Cat's Eye
by Ailura Starscribe
Summary: Oliver thinks the new Wandless Magic professor is just perfect for him, but there's a lot he (and everyone else) doesn't know about her... Oliver Wood/OC. **Total re-format and re-upload, plus link to illustrations!!!** PLEASE R/R!!**
1. In Which There Is a New Professor, and O...

Title: Cat's Eye (1/?)  
  
Author: Ailura Starscribe  
  
E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General  
  
Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch  
  
Rating: R (for slightly racy scenes in this and later chapters)  
  
Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well...  
  
Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary...  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. A few of these characters actually are my own (like Ailura herself), but I'm sure you can tell the difference.  
  
A/N: This fic has been previously posted on fanfiction.net, but this version is much expanded. If you've run into this before, it's probably worth your while to read it again, as it's rather a lot better. And if you haven't, well, enjoy! Illustrations, also by me, can be found on http://www.starlight.nu/starscribe  
  
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Ch. 1 In Which there is a New Professor, and Oliver Wood is Tired  
  
There were two things sitting in front of her that afternoon, both of which made her feel the same way- apprehensive, but oddly excited.  
  
A contract, and Professor Albus Dumbledore.  
  
He sat and watched her as she considered, his face showing many things. The wrinkles in his skin and the whiteness of his beard were clues to the advanced age she knew he possessed. She would, in fact, have thought him quite ancient, were it not for his eyes.  
  
The eyes of Merlin himself, she supposed, would have held similar depth of knowledge. Similar depth of caring. And, above all, that twinkle.  
  
"Well?"  
  
He pushed the quill across the desk. She took it, twirling it in her fingers for a moment to admire the sweep of the eagle feather. Then, squaring her shoulders, she set the tip to the parchment in front of her, and signed her name in simple, readable letters:  
  
Ailura Starscribe.  
  
Professor Ailura Starscribe.  
  
That had a nice ring to it.  
  
"Then it's done," said Dumbledore cheerily. "Excellent, Professor. I am very much looking forward to the coming year."  
  
"So am I," Ailura grinned. "Now, when is the Sorting Ceremony?"  
  
"Seven o'clock, but I wouldn't worry. The rest of the students make such a commotion arriving that you can't miss it."  
  
"All right, if you're sure... I'd better go unpack properly, or I won't have dress robes for the feast." Ailura stood up. Across the desk, Dumbledore did the same. He reached out a hand to her, and she shook it firmly, still smiling.  
  
------------------------------  
  
Following the directions of the kindly portraits, Ailura soon found her way to the tower room that was to be hers. Her trunks were waiting outside the door rather than inside the room, which struck her as curious until she noticed the door knocker.  
  
A lion's head, teeth bared in a snarl, sat exactly at eye level on the heavy oak door. There was no knob.  
  
Intrigued, she looked closely and felt about where the knob should have been. Nothing. Then, on a sudden hunch, she gently laid a finger on the lion's nose. "What do I do with you?" she said softly. The lion stirred beneath her touch and spoke.  
  
"Just put your finger in my mouth."  
  
"Ah, so you can taste me? How clever." Ailura removed her finger from the lion's muzzle and inserted it in between the metallic teeth. Immediately, they clamped down on her fingertip. She felt a prick, almost like a bite, and then the lion released her.  
  
"Professor Starscribe," it growled, "you are now the only one who can open this door. If you wish others to have access, you must bring them here and they must do what you just did." Then it froze back into its previous solidity. The door swung open, and she stepped inside.  
  
Ailura wound her way up the short spiral staircase lining part of the wall of her tower, her trunk following behind her like a particularly obedient dog.  
  
Dumbledore had told her that the tower had been empty for several years before she came. It had previously belonged to a little witch whose Levitating Charms had been very good. The stairs had not bothered her, as she could simply float up them. Ailura was toying with the idea of enchanting them so that they moved like the Muggle escalators she'd seen in London, but had the feeling that she'd end up leaving them the way they were.  
  
Other professors had objected to the tower's layout because of the stairs, but also because of the rooms. It had three small rooms, one on top of the other; a sort of office area with a desk on the first floor, a fireplace and some furniture on the second, and a bedroom on the third. Most professors preferred the one-level arrangement commonly found around the castle, but this was quite to Ailura's liking, since she didn't mind stairs and really liked the idea of living in a tower. Dumbledore seemed to have sensed this, and had offered her the tower straight away.  
  
The second-floor "parlour", as Dumbledore had called it, looked comfortable. The "furniture" consisted of two armchairs and a great number of bookcases that lined the walls. Ailura smiled happily. She had brought rather a lot of books with her, shrunk down to fit in the trunk, so the bookcases were most fortuitous additions to the tower.  
  
Finally, she reached the third floor. There was a canopy bed with heavy curtains, exactly like the ones that the students slept in. A large wardrobe occupied one corner of the room, and a dressing table with a mirror sat next to the tall, wide-silled bay window. Ailura studied the window appraisingly, thinking vague pleased thoughts of cushions and window seats. She motioned her trunk down to the floor by the end of the bed, and waved the locks and latches open. Clothes began floating from the trunk towards the wardrobe, whose doors sprang obligingly open to accept them. Then came the books, which she unshrunk and sent floating down the stairs to the second floor, where they found places on the empty bookshelves. Then came the false bottom of the trunk, which she stowed in a convenient corner.  
  
Kept safe from harm in the space underneath it, nestled in padding, were a few magical items that she had picked up in Diagon Alley, hoping to use them in her classes, and a broomstick.  
  
It had been shrunk to fit in the space available, but Ailura had discovered there were very few things that a competent witch or wizard could not shrink without causing any damage to the item in question. Now, with a loving pat, she restored it to its original size and propped it in a corner, twigs up so as not to bend them.  
  
Then she looked through the wardrobe, selected her favourite set of dress robes, and began preparing for dinner.  
  
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"Hippogriff," said Oliver Wood absently, and the Fat Lady swung aside. He stepped through the portrait hole, his trunk floating behind him, and headed straight for the stairway to the dormitories. He didn't notice the pair of redheads sitting on the couch by the fire, nor did he notice the three girls sprawled on the rug, gossiping idly. That didn't matter, though, as they noticed him.  
  
"Hey, Oliver!" Angelina Johnson called. "Come talk a bit, we didn't see you on the train and we're dying to hear what you did over the summer!"  
  
Oliver smiled wearily. "'Lo, gang." Leaving his trunk by the stairway, he stumbled over to the group and flopped into a chair.  
  
Fred raised an eyebrow at him. "Why so lackluster, Wood? Come on, just a month 'til Quidditch season! You should be full of energy!" he teased.  
  
Oliver propped his head on his hand and blinked his eyes back open. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit slow at the moment... stayed up most of last night. Forgot about a parchment I was supposed to do for Binns."  
  
George shook his head. "How studious of you. And you haven't taken any Pepperup Potion yet?" The answer was obvious to them all as the seventh- year stifled a yawn.  
  
"I wanted a nap before the Feast," he said, "but you lot spoiled my clever plans." Fred and George looked at each other, winked, and took a bow.  
  
"Least we could do for you, after all those early morning Quidditch practices last year," said Fred, with an impish look in his eyes. "Come on, we should go down to the Hall, they'll start without us!" The twins each grabbed one of Oliver's hands and hauled him to his feet. Alicia put both hands on his shoulders and gave a shove, propelling him in the direction of the portrait hole. He laughed, and joined the merrily chattering group as they left the common room.  
  
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Ailura smoothed the front of her navy-blue robes nervously, then stepped into the Hall. She realised that the door she was at was a side door, probably used only by teachers, and led her right to the head table. She recognised some of the professors; there was Poppy Pomfrey, and that looked very much like Tabitha Hooch, and-  
  
A cold voice spoke up behind her. "You, I suppose, are the new Professor... Starchild?"  
  
She turned, to see a dark-cloaked figure behind her. Greasy black hair hung to his shoulders. His sharp, dark eyes looked down a slightly hooked nose at her. She had the distinct impression he did not approve of what he saw, but made up her mind to be cordial anyway, and smiled at him. "Starscribe, actually. Ailura Starscribe. And yourself, sir?"  
  
"Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master. Head of Slytherin House." The thin lips twisted in a smile that was almost a sneer. He seemed to be about to say something more, but she cut him off.  
  
"Lovely to meet you, Professor Snape, I'm sure I will enjoy working with you." With that, she turned away from him and proceeded on down the table towards Dumbledore, who was beckoning her to a seat on his right side. She could sense Snape following her for a couple of paces, but pretended not to notice.  
  
As she slid into the chair next to the Headmaster, he said softly "So you've met Snape."  
  
She quirked the corner of her mouth. "Yes, apparently I have. He doesn't seem to like me very much."  
  
"There are a number of students here who would take that as a compliment, Professor..." His eyes were twinkling again. "I don't believe Severus likes very many people. Don't let it bother you, at any rate. You won't likely be dealing with him very often."  
  
Just then, the massive doors at the other end of the Great Hall opened, and a group of students walked in, deep in an animated conversation. They all seated themselves at the table second from the left and continued to talk. More students followed them, moving towards the other three tables as well. None of them paid any particular attention to the head table. That was fine with Ailura, who could then watch the students unselfconsciously.  
  
Soon the tables were mostly full. The head table had only two empty seats, one to Dumbledore's left and one to Ailura's right. The question of whose they were was, however, immediately forgotten in the commotion caused by the arrival of a group of younger students, being marshalled into place by none other than Professor Snape. They all looked very nervous. Ailura decided they had to be first-years, but wasn't sure, since Snape was enough to make anyone nervous.  
  
"Move along, now," called the wizard, waving them towards platform at the front of the room. He pushed through the crowd and went to stand beside the stool in the middle of the platform. Upon it was an ancient and battered wizard's hat. Ailura didn't know how old it might be, but guessed that it was older than anyone else in the room, by a long way. It was dirty, frayed, and patched, its once-dark black faded to a sort of grey. It didn't look like much. Still, the mere fact of its presence meant it had to be something special. Therefore, Ailura wasn't too terribly surprised when it started to sing cheerfully.  
  
"Oh I am the famous Sorting Hat  
  
Who sorted all your friends,  
  
Your parents and your teachers,  
  
It's a list that never ends.  
  
I'll tell you of the houses whose  
  
Great names you've heard before,  
  
If you are brave you'll surely join  
  
The folks in Gryffindor,  
  
Ambition is the key if it's in  
  
Slytherin you're placed,  
  
And Ravenclaw's the spot for those  
  
With brains behind their face.  
  
The Hufflepuffs hold loyalty  
  
The highest of the virtues,  
  
No matter where you end up  
  
Be assured that it won't hurt you,  
  
I've been doing this for years now  
  
And my record's very strong,  
  
I simply look inside your mind  
  
And see where you belong.  
  
So come on, step right up to me  
  
And put me on your head,  
  
I'll find a spot for each of you  
  
To go and sit instead."  
  
The hat finished its tune and the students gave it a round of applause. Snape looked faintly disgusted for a moment, then pulled a piece of parchment from a pocket. "When I call your name, come up and put on the hat," he said, unrolling the parchment and scanning the names printed thereon. "Althwick, Cyrus."  
  
A tall, gangly blond boy stepped up and took the Sorting Hat. He sat down on the stool, then placed it gingerly on his head. It slid down over his eyes. There was silence in the hall. Suddenly, the hat bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!", making everyone jump. The table second from the left started to cheer, and everyone else applauded Cyrus Althwick as he took off the hat and went to join his new housemates. Snape cleared his throat impatiently and the room fell silent again. "Azeley, Karl," he called.  
  
Karl Azeley was sorted into Ravenclaw. The process was repeated with all the rest of the students, all the way to "Zabini, Pascale", who became a Slytherin; the Gryffindors, particularly the older ones among them, were the loudest at welcoming the new students into their ranks. Nobody seemed to want to cheer for the Slytherins except the Slytherins. Ailura wondered why. Then she remembered that Snape was Head of Slytherin and did not wonder anymore.  
  
Snape rolled up the parchment and tucked it into the pocket it had come from, then strode around the head table and sat down right beside Ailura. He appeared not to notice her presence, so she did likewise. A rather stern- looking witch with gingery-brown hair and emerald green robes had come in a few minutes earlier and taken the seat beside Dumbledore, so the head table was full. All the students and teachers seemed to be waiting for something. That was when Dumbledore stood up and addressed the audience.  
  
"My friends, it is once again the beginning of a new term. We have much ahead of us, and I know your professors have been working very hard to prepare their lessons for you. I would say it promises to be a very interesting year. Now, there are more than just new lessons here at Hogwarts this year." He smiled. "We have two new professors. Professor Remus Lupin has kindly agreed to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes."  
  
A shabby-looking, pale-skinned man stood up at the far left end of the head table. Several students from the Gryffindor table were applauding, but the rest did not seem impressed. Ailura glanced down the head table to see if she could read any reactions on the professors' faces. Most seemed indifferent. Then she saw Snape.  
  
He looked like a thundercloud. She could have sworn he was growling with fury under his breath, and he wasn't even fighting the curl of his lip, which exposed gleaming teeth like those of a dog about to bite. He wasn't just looking daggers at Lupin, he was looking two-handed, poison-bladed, enchanted broadswords.  
  
Obviously, the two did not get along. Ailura sat back in her chair and continued to listen to Dumbledore.  
  
------------------------------------------  
  
Down at the Gryffindor table, Oliver was feeling a bit more alert. All the clapping and cheering for the first-year Gryffindors had knocked the fuzz out of his brain. He was only half-listening to Dumbledore's speech when Fred Weasley poked him in the ribs.  
  
"Oi, Olly, look at Snape!"  
  
Oliver did, and could not remember ever having seen Snape look so angry, including the days Gryffindor's Quidditch team had flattened Slytherin. He supposed it must have something to do with the man who was just sitting down again, the new Defence teacher. His eyes returned to Dumbledore- or tried to. However, on the way there, they stalled at the woman sitting between Snape and the Headmaster, and got no further.  
  
She looked about 25, younger than anybody else at the head table. Her long blonde hair caught the candlelight and reflected it like burnished gold. Silvery-blue, slightly almond-shaped eyes twinkled with the same merriment he often saw in Dumbledore's eyes. Quirked in a half-smile at Snape's expense, her full red lips looked deliciously kissable. After the first blink, he realised that she was beautiful, and that he loved her.  
  
There was a strange sort of buzz in his brain, but he couldn't imagine why. It was far too hot in the Hall. He wanted to loosen the collar of the shirt he wore beneath his robes, and wished he wasn't wearing a sweater as well. Seizing his goblet of icy-cold pumpkin juice, he drained it, hoping for relief. It did help. With an effort, he dragged his mind in the direction of his surroundings, though not quite back to them. It wouldn't go, just dug in its heels and refused to budge from the mysterious woman next to the Headmaster.  
  
Everyone was clapping for some reason. He must have missed something important. He joined them, just so as not to look completely lost. Then the hall quieted and he heard Professor Dumbledore speak again.  
  
"The second addition to our staff is the very talented Professor Ailura Starscribe, who will be teaching Hogwarts' new Wandless Magic course. This course is, in fact, a great experiment, as it's never been taught anywhere else either."  
  
The woman stood up and smiled. Oliver's heart soared and sank at the same time. She had such a lovely smile... but she was a teacher. She had to be a teacher. Of all the things she could be... She would never be interested. He sighed deeply at the unfairness of life.  
  
"What d'you think of that, Oliver?" asked George.  
  
"Beautiful," he said softly.  
  
George was confused for a moment. Then his expression cleared. "Ah... I was speaking of the course... but you were speaking of the prof. Am I right?"  
  
Oliver blushed slightly and looked down at his plate. Luckily he was saved from having to reply, as at that moment the food appeared and everyone, George included, started to reach for it.  
  
He'd just have to get over it, that was all.  
  
That was all. Yeah, right, he thought.  
  
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Ailura acknowledged the applause of the crowd with a smile. Dumbledore wrapped up his usual short speech, and the food appeared on opulent serving platters before them. She helped herself. Meanwhile, she devoted some serious thought to the murmurs that had gone round the room when she had been introduced. Was it possible some of them recognised her name? She fervently hoped not. That was the last hassle she needed to deal with right now. It was enough to be going into a classroom with a bunch of wizard kids she'd never seen before, and trying to teach them something that she'd never taught before. It didn't help to remember that actually, no matter what she was to be teaching, she would never have taught it before.  
  
The Ministry of Magic was already breathing down her neck about her course. If it was a success, she'd almost certainly be offered a Ministry job teaching Aurors. If it failed... but she put that thought resolutely out of her mind. Her career as a serious witch, judged only by her powers and knowledge, would be just fine if she could concentrate on her classes and do the best she could.  
  
At least, she hoped so. 


	2. In Which Oliver Bruises His Ego, and Ail...

Title: Cat's Eye (2/?)  
  
Author: Ailura Starscribe  
  
E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General  
  
Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch  
  
Rating: still R, though not here  
  
Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well...  
  
Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter...  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. I can make Ailura jump through whatever hoops I want though.  
  
A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe. Hello, faithful readers- love you all. Size does matter- it's so much better longer.  
  
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Ch. 2 In Which Oliver Bruises his Ego, and Ailura gets some Fresh Air  
  
Oliver collapsed onto his bed with a groan. "Why'd you have to take the Featherweight Charm off the trunk before I set it down?" he growled at Percy Weasley, who looked slightly sheepish.  
  
"Sorry, Oliver, I really thought you'd got it on the ground. Will your foot be all right?"  
  
Oliver prodded his right foot gingerly. "I think so... but my back got a nasty wrench when I so suddenly found myself carrying 100 pounds instead of 10."  
  
"Oh," said Percy, who now sounded concerned. "Are you going to see Madam Pomfrey about it?"  
  
"Nah, it's not that bad. I'll just give up on the trunk for now and lie flat... By morning it should be better." Oliver unlaced his shoes and pulled his robes over his head, wincing as he straightened up. Percy noticed, and said contritely, "Shall I help you with your unpacking, then? You could tell me where to put things, if you like."  
  
Oliver considered that for a moment, then said, "Yeah, all right. You know where I put most of my stuff anyway, after six years rooming with me."  
  
"The floor?" asked Percy innocently.  
  
Oliver contemplated throwing a pillow at him, but decided that involved too much effort. He chuckled and laid back on his bed, trying not to shift his back too much, and watched Percy stowing his clothes in his dresser. One good thing about Percy, he was certainly neat. Oliver's belongings wouldn't end up on the floor until he put them there himself.  
  
He was sure it wouldn't take long.  
  
He gave some thought to taking off the shirt and pants he was still wearing. Unfortunately, doing that would mean sitting up again, which he very much did not want to do. He blinked slowly. Maybe if he laid still for a bit his back would quit aching, and then he could change into his pajamas. Satisfied, he settled back against his pillows.  
  
It was lucky that Percy did indeed know where Oliver would want his things to be, since within a matter of minutes Oliver was sound asleep.  
  
................"Wood?' called Professor Starscribe. "Oliver Wood?"  
  
"Right here, Professor," he said suavely. She looked up from her class list, and their eyes met over the top of her parchment. Hers widened as he shot her his most heartbreakingly gorgeous smile. She maintained the eye contact for the longest time, as if he'd hexed her, then gave herself a little shake and rose from her seat.  
  
There didn't seem to be anyone else but them in the classroom anymore. That was fine. "Why" was an unnecessarily complicated question.  
  
She was coming toward him, balanced perfectly on toweringly high-heeled shoes. Her robes shimmered and became a low-cut scarlet evening gown. There was a ruby around her neck, its thin gold chain the same colour as the hair that fell ruler-straight to her waist, now freed from its overly academic knot at the nape of her neck. She leaned down- he could see down the front of her dress, and she knew it- "Oliver..." she breathed. "I love that name."  
  
"You love more than just my name, don't you... Ailura?" he purred, rising from his seat and putting his arms around her.  
  
"Oh, yes, Oliver... yes, you sexy creature, I do..." She was looking smokily at him, her eyes incredibly blue. Her arms twined about his shoulders. Suddenly she slipped her hand behind his head and pulled him into a kiss. The feeling was explosive. Even after their lips parted, he was dizzy with the force of it. Now it was his turn to be hypnotised with a gaze, his head spinning, falling into the sapphire depths of her eyes...............  
  
THUD.  
  
Oliver yowled with pain and surprise as he hit the floor. He sat up, too fast, and shook his head muzzily.  
  
"Wha's happ'ning?" Percy mumbled sleepily. The curtains of his bed twitched aside and he peered out, hair mussed and eyes half-closed. He blinked myopically at the scene of chaos before him. "Oh. Fell out of bed, I see. That explains the battlecry."  
  
Oliver disentangled himself from the sheet that had wrapped itself lovingly around his neck and torso, then massaged his back, which was now rather forcefully informing him that it was extremely unhappy with the way he had been treating it. "You know, I think I will go see Madam Pomfrey after all, Percy," he said, gritting his teeth as he hauled himself upright.  
  
Percy nodded. "Right, good idea, will you be down to breakfast?"  
  
"I hope so. It can't take too long to fix a back strain, can it?" With that, Oliver shoved his feet into his shoes, tied them with a flick of his wand, smoothed out his sleep-rumpled clothes with another small spell, and left.  
  
Gazing at the floor, Oliver made his way to the Hospital Wing. His neck was complaining of abuse too, forcing him to keep his head down. In fact, there were any number of small places he was quickly discovering that didn't like the idea of him moving about, and kept dragging his attention to themselves with nagging little twinges. He was in the process of negotiating a ceasefire with the nerves in his knees when he reached a bend in the corridor, went around it without thinking, and ran into someone, knocking him breathless and them over. He staggered momentarily, regained his balance and his wind, and looked at them to apologise.  
  
Blue eyes met his. It was almost as much of a shock as the physical collision. Suddenly his face flamed red. "S-s-sorry, Professor Starscribe," he managed to say.  
  
She smiled. "Well, at least you know who I am. Precious few people do around here... Apparently I failed to make any kind of impression on Hogwarts last night." Oliver was strongly tempted to disagree with that. He kept his mouth shut, however, having a good idea of the sort of impression he had just made on her.  
  
She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "But I believe you have the advantage here. You are...?"  
  
"Uh, I'm, I'm Wood. Oliver Wood. Gryffindor," he stammered, wishing he were anywhere else. Desperately, he tried to put his dream of the night before out of his head.  
  
She was still sitting on the floor. Feeling like a complete idiot, he held out his hand to help her up. She took it with a firm grip and got to her feet, then dusted off her robes. He winced again; now his shoulder hurt. With a grimace, he added it to the rapidly growing list of spots to mention to Madam Pomfrey. Starscribe looked sideways at him, and her brow furrowed slightly. "Did I hurt you?" she asked.  
  
"No," he said shortly, "I fell out of bed this morning, after having an extremely full trunk dropped on my feet the night before."  
  
"Oh." She looked like she was trying not to laugh. "So you're bruised."  
  
He nodded wearily. "Rather."  
  
"Stand still a moment, then- I'm feeling kind, and I think I can save you a visit to Madam Pomfrey." He did as he was told; in his experience, when a Hogwarts teacher told you to stand still, you did. One never knew exactly what was about to happen.  
  
He supposed he expected her to pull out her wand. Instead, she placed both hands on his shoulders. He twitched slightly, out of nerves. She made as if to pull away, clearly thinking she'd hurt him, but he quickly shook his head. "It's all right, keep on."  
  
Suddenly his whole body felt warm, then cold, then normal. What had she done? And without a wand anywhere in sight. Amazing, he thought.  
  
She stepped back. "Go on, touch your toes; it shouldn't hurt anymore," she informed him. Warily, he stretched and brushed the ground with his fingertips. It didn't hurt. He bent deeper, placing the palms of his hands flat on the ground. That didn't hurt either. Impressive. He wondered if he could go any deeper, but elected not to risk straining his muscles again.  
  
"My, you're limber..." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you play sports at all?"  
  
"Quidditch," he said, straightening up, "I'm the Gryffindor Keeper. And the team captain." He couldn't keep a note of pride from stealing into his voice as he said it.  
  
Recognition lighted her eyes. "Right, I've heard all about you from Professor McGonagall. And you're in my Wandless Magic class, aren't you?"  
  
He thought about his timetable for a moment. "Yeah."  
  
"Oh, lovely. I must be going, or they'll eat all the pastries without me, but I'll see you in class, Mr. Wood!" She smiled, and walked away down the corridor.  
  
Oliver stood there, dazedly, for a minute or two. Then he remembered that since, to all appearances, he was completely healed, he had no reason to be going to the Hospital Wing anymore. He turned around and headed back to Gryffindor Tower, still wondering just what had happened.  
  
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Ailura shook her head as she walked down the hall. It was nice that someone had figured out who she was, in a way. Over the previous few days, both Filch and Peeves had mistaken her for a seventh-year student. Of course, if she had to be knocked over to get recognition... but he seemed like a good kid. Over-prone to blushing, perhaps, but possessed of good manners. She was glad she'd healed him; it was an easy medi-spell, and it made her feel good. In fact, armed with that good feeling, she decided she could even face Snape.  
  
On the strength of that decision, she headed for the Great Hall. Breakfast was a good opportunity to get to know some more students. Besides, there would be pastries. She loved pastries. The day always looked that much brighter on the strength of a cinnamon sugar rush.  
  
It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, if there was at least a friendly face in her first class. She didn't teach Wood until the last class of the day, so that was something to look forward to. He'd responded well to the spell she'd done, and she thought he might be rather apt at Wandless Magic. Of course, she reminded herself, at this point she ought to stay away from predictions and stick to facts.  
  
She found her place at the head table and snagged a danish from a platter. Dumbledore was not there, but Tabitha Hooch was. Ailura had clicked instantly with the rather prickly Flying instructor, each having discovered in the other a great depth of knowledge about broomsticks and flying. Ailura had, in fact, been warned that she might expect to be asked to referee a match or two from time to time. This had amused her in a deep and secret way. Madam Hooch did not know why Ailura knew as much about flying as she did. Even so, she was interesting company.  
  
As she munched her danish, she scanned the tables for interesting people. There were five redheads at the Gryffindor table, all obviously related. One of them was the Head Boy. She would have to meet them, she decided. Harry Potter ought to be there somewhere too, she thought, but she couldn't pick him out.  
  
A silver-haired boy at the Slytherin table had caught her eye earlier, as well. Him she knew, at least by name. He was Lucius Malfoy's son. Malfoy had opposed her appointment to the Professorship, on the grounds that she was too inexperienced. It was a good thing, Ailura reflected, that Mr. Malfoy was almost as much in the dark about her as everyone else was, or he might have had far more grounds for his opposition.  
  
It was also a good thing that she liked being a dark horse. Otherwise, it could get to be awfully lonely.  
  
Summoning another danish from the plate that was just out of her reach, she checked the clock at the end of the Great Hall. 45 minutes before she had to be in class, ready and waiting for the first wave of wizardlets. She glanced out the window. It was a beautiful morning, clear and sunny, not too cold. This, she remembered, was the sort of morning on which she'd always thought it a pity to be stuck in a classroom. At the time, it had never been her prerogative to pick the location in which she found herself, and her teachers had always been notoriously difficult to convince to take field trips even if the destination was only the field. Now, there was something she could do about that feeling, at least for 45 minutes.  
  
She concentrated for a moment, visualised the third floor of her little tower, then thought a spell. With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared...  
  
...and reappeared in her tower. She took a bite of the danish she was still holding, and grinned with barely and incompletely suppressed mischief. It was impossible to Apparate anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds, but apparently one could Transit.  
  
In Ailura's third year at Catalpa Wizarding Academy, her parents had sent her an old grimoire that had been passed down through the family for generations. In it was a spell much like Apparating, but different enough that wards against Apparating wouldn't stop it. You couldn't go as far when you Transited as when you Apparated, so it wasn't quite as practical for general use. Besides that, Transiting wasn't something just any wizard or witch would be able to do. She thought McGonagall might be able to learn it, but she was probably the only other one at Hogwarts who would be successful. Ailura, however, had immediately recognised the value of such a spell, and had learnt it. Now, she thought, it came in very handy. She imagined the look on Snape's face when she disappeared.  
  
Chuckling evilly at the thought, she Summoned her broomstick from where it sat in the corner by her bed. She stepped onto the sill of the lovely tall bay window, unlatched it, then threw herself out of it.  
  
Her horizontal momentum ran out and gravity took over, and she plunged downwards until she was mere metres from the ground. That was when she gunned her broom, and suddenly shot upwards at a steep angle, almost as fast as she had fallen, wrapping her legs tightly around the broomstick for stability. The sheer exhilaration of free fall took her over. Laughing out loud, she flipped her broom over in mid-air and hung from it by her knees, letting the wind play through her hair. There was absolutely nothing like flying.  
  
Neatly and acrobatically, she pulled herself back upright. Stunt flying was such fun, she couldn't see why more people didn't do it. Then again, not too many people had the balance and the inner ears of steel that she did. Her family had always been good at riding on broomsticks. She punctuated that thought with a barrel roll, then spiralled upwards a few metres and headed for the Quidditch pitch.  
  
Ailura had played a lot of Quidditch at school, and had been one of the best players her school had ever had by dint of incredible amounts of practice. She knew her broom's capabilities inside out by the end of second- year, and after that it had simply been a matter of long hours spent flying.  
  
It was great to be back on a pitch again, and Hogwarts took their Quidditch seriously, so their pitch was very nice. Catalpa's had been good too, tucked away in among the hills near the school and camouflaged like a dream, but many of the places she had played were not much more than a field and stands, with wooden goalposts and no walls. Strictly bush-league Quidditch... but still, it was Quidditch and that made it all right.  
  
Looping the posts experimentally, she blocked an imaginary Quaffle and dove for a non-existent Snitch. Evading and then clubbing a phantom Bludger, she made the game-winning throw and raised her arms in victory. Then she decided she was probably being far too silly for a fully titled Hogwarts professor, and turned back towards the school.  
  
She checked her pocket-watch; she had five minutes to be in class. Eyeing the wing in which her classroom was, she turned her broomstick that way.  
  
She coasted up to her classroom window, unlatched it from the outside with a murmured word, then stepped into the room. Stowing her broomstick in the corner behind her desk, she straightened her hair and robes and sat down just in time for the first student to walk in and see a young lady who looked far more like a Professor than she had a moment ago. 


	3. In Which Sparks Fly, and So Does Oliver

Title: Cat's Eye (3/?)  
  
Author: Ailura Starscribe  
  
E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General  
  
Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch  
  
Rating: still R, though not here  
  
Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well...  
  
Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter...  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. If I owned Olly... hmm... now there's a thought that bears thinking about. :)  
  
A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe, as usual.  
  
Old Author's Note: Hi, all you lovely people who have read this far! I hope you are enjoying the way I'm spending Spring Break. I wanted to take the time to thank all the people who have reviewed so far; Emerald (thanks for indulging- nay, keeping up with this momentary insanity... mais le bel olivier est Ã  moi!), Hippy Gypsy (you get your wish!), Juvenus (so you're a Wood groupie too, eh? Good for you, I'll go read your stories now) and Morghaine (oh, she is interesting! just how interesting, you will find out! By the way, I like your fics)... I'm rewarding you all with a chapter rather a lot longer than usual.  
  
We now return to our regularly scheduled fanfic. :)  
  
_____________________________________________________________________  
  
Ch. 3 In Which Sparks Fly, and So Does Oliver  
  
Ailura dug through the pile of papers on her desk, mentally berating herself for not having spent the last 45 minutes getting past her natural state of sub-organisation. Finally she found the parchment she wanted- the class list. Beginner Wandless, Third Years, Slytherin/Gryffindor. Ouch, she thought, having heard what a horror it usually was to teach Slytherin House students in the company of any other house, especially if it was Gryffindor. They were cruel to the Hufflepuffs and supercilious to the Ravenclaws, but simply intolerable to the Gryffindors. No easy first class, but baptism by fire it would be for her.  
  
She glanced at the students. One of the redheaded boys, an alert-looking girl with bushy hair, a dark-haired boy with glasses- doubtless, that was Harry Potter- yes, there was the scar. Draco Malfoy, curse the luck, with two rather thick-looking chaps in tow like bodyguards, and an assortment of girls whose major objective seemed to be following either Potter or Malfoy, and snickering at the other. There was the Irish boy who had caused a commotion at the feast the night before by attempting a spell he'd picked up over the holidays... he had only managed to create a good deal of smoke. The rest, she had not seen before.  
  
Well, there was no sense in delaying any longer. She walked to the front of the class and pulled out her wand.  
  
"Please take out your wands and lay them on the desk in front of you," she said. With much rustling of robes and bags, that was done. She set her own wand down on the small wooden table in front of her, and took a deep breath.  
  
"Now, you are all here because you wished to learn how to do magic without having to wave a stick. Therefore, you won't be needing these-" and with a wave of her hand she Summoned all of their wands to her, then Banished the whole pile, including her own, to the top of her desk, then continued "- and of course neither will I. Now, I'd like you to think back to how it was discovered that you were wizards and witches. Many of you might have played with wands when you were little, but I know for a fact that most of you did not even get your first wand until you were starting at Hogwarts. Anyhow, I'm sure you're aware by now that using other people's wands won't give you very good results. There's a reason for that.  
  
"Mr. Ollivander, who sold you all your wands, measures you carefully. There is one wand type for every wizard, and that is that. Another may work somewhat differently or not at all." She selected a student at random. "You, there, come here a moment." The boy stood up.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked kindly, seeing that he looked petrified. She could identify, and felt sorry for him.  
  
"Neville Longbottom, Professor," he squeaked.  
  
"Longbottom, I'd like you to perform an experiment for me." She Summoned several wands at random from the pile, one of which she knew to be his. "This table has a secret dream. Deep inside its hardwood, it wants to fly. Take your wand, and make its dreams come true." Neville looked sceptical, but did as he was told, and with a very proper swish-and-flick and a "Wingardium Leviosa!" the table was suddenly a metre in the air.  
  
"Excellent, Longbottom. Finite Incantatem." The table sank back to the ground as she pointed at it. "Now, give me your wand and take one of the others. Try the spell again."  
  
Neville seized a blond-wood wand with a scrollwork grip. He waved it exactly as he had before, and said the charm loudly and clearly.  
  
The table wobbled a bit, then slowly tipped over.  
  
Ailura set it to rights, handed Neville another wand, this one ebony, and told him to try again.  
  
Swish, flick, charm- and the table shivered and turned bright orange. The class giggled.  
  
New wand, swish, flick, charm- and the poor beleaguered table was suddenly upside down and waving its legs about like an overturned turtle. Now the class was laughing outright. Neville dropped the wand and went quite pink around the ears.  
  
"Hm," Ailura said thoughtfully. "I've never had it do that before. Most interesting." She Banished all the wands to her desk again. "Thank you very much, Longbottom, that was exactly what I wanted to demonstrate. Take ten points for Gryffindor." Neville scuttled gratefully back to his seat.  
  
"So you see," she continued, restoring the table to its original inanimacy, colour, and position, "the wands are not what determine the results of the spells you cast. Longbottom should have gotten the same results each time, and would have had he been using his own wand. The strange metamorphoses of my table are not due to any incompetence on his part. It is simply the way the wands act upon the power he was attempting to apply to the table. To understand that, you must know something of the way a wand works."  
  
She Summoned her own wand, and held it up. "Ash, 10 inches, unicorn hair core. An Ollivander wand, even though I didn't learn my magic in England. My parents bought it for me when we were on holiday in London. It's a lovely wand really, but it only serves two purposes. It focuses and amplifies my spells, and it looks nice when I wave it." There was a small ripple of laughter at that. She grinned, and continued; this wasn't so bad after all.  
  
"Without my knowing what I wanted to do to whatever I'm charming, it wouldn't work. The combination of materials that make up my wand are simply the most effective amplifier for me. Anything else would distort the power I am pushing through it. If I were to use Longbottom's wand, I would most likely be turning tables orange as well. In fact, as I am more powerful and better trained than Longbottom, I could conceivably destroy that wand altogether. For that reason, I had to get one of you to do this demonstration instead of myself."  
  
The class looked suitably impressed.  
  
"Now, I'd like those of you in Muggle Studies to tell me, if you can- what happens if you give a wand to a Muggle?"  
  
The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl next to Potter put up her hand.  
  
"Yes, Miss... Granger?" Ailura searched her mind for the name, and was gratified to see that she had gotten it right.  
  
"Nothing whatsoever," said Granger confidently.  
  
"Absolutely right. Muggles can do nothing at all with our wands, although they can certainly be affected by other objects that we charm. This is one of the clearest examples I know of why a wand is not, in and of itself, magical. And that," here she paused triumphantly, "is why it is possible to do magic without it. All you need to do is learn to focus and project your spells yourself. Admittedly, a wand does make it easier, and I'd still do Professor Flitwick's assignments with a wand if I were you, but you shouldn't need one at all anymore for the things he taught you in your first- and second-year classes. The better you know a charm, the better you will be able to perform it without a wand. Keeping that in mind, who here is very good at Charms?"  
  
Several hands went up- Granger, Malfoy, and one of the Gryffindor boys she didn't know. Quick look at the class list- Dean Thomas. "All right, then, you three, come here. I'm sure you know how to shoot sparks." They nodded. "Good. That's the simplest spell I can think of. It will also tell me who among you has the strongest command of their magic." They looked at her questioningly, and Thomas spoke up.  
  
"Professor, how do we do it?"  
  
"Well, how would you do it with a wand?"  
  
"It's... um, well, you just do it, Professor. I don't know how to explain it better than that."  
  
"All right, pretend you're holding your wand. Now do what you do to make sparks. And concentrate... visualise the sparks coming from your fingertips." She brought her hand down in the perfect swish-and-flick motion, trailing red sparks. "Just think of doing that."  
  
The three students swished and flicked almost in perfect unison. Ailura thought she saw the tips of Malfoy's fingers glow a bit, but no actual sparks were produced.  
  
"Concentrate," she repeated firmly. "Visualise and concentrate."  
  
Now Granger's fingers were glowing. She brought her hand down sharply, and a few faint sparks lit the class.  
  
Malfoy was concentrating so deeply he looked like he'd been turned to stone. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, his hand moving quickly out from his shoulder as if he were throwing a disc. A jet of emerald sparks shot from his fingers, so bright that the whole room went greenish for a moment. The smile on his face was ferocious and superior.  
  
Granger and Thomas looked disconcerted while the class applauded, the Slytherins far louder than the Gryffindors. "Very, very good, Malfoy," Ailura said, honestly impressed by the strength of the spell the boy had cast.  
  
Thomas was wringing his hands as if he had burned them. Finally he managed to shake weakly scarlet sparks from them, and smiled a bit sheepishly. Granger tried again and was much more successful, pointing her index finger like a wand and shooting red sparks from the end of her finger. Malfoy still looked awfully smug.  
  
"Well," said Ailura, "that's about it. Ten points for each of you, and thank you. For the rest of the class, I'd like you all to attempt the same thing. Please don't set anything, or anyone, on fire." Malfoy coughed; it sounded suspiciously like "Longbottom". Ailura shot him a patented "Teacher Look", and sent her three examples back to their seats. While they waved their hands about with varying degrees of success, she distributed their wands and took mental notes.  
  
Malfoy was definitely very strong, and understood the theory well. Potter took a bit longer to get the hang of the charm, and stuck to scarlet, but the sparks he produced were every bit as bright as Malfoy's. Granger was an especially quick study, though not as powerful as Potter and Malfoy. Thomas was a bit tentative without his wand. The rest of the class was mostly unremarkable, although Longbottom did manage to singe his cloak. He had good sparks, just a bad control of direction.  
  
Finally class was over, and she dismissed them gratefully. Her next class was Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff, apparently the best pairing. She was very glad of that. Malfoy was a good wizard, but the tension he provoked in a classroom was tangible. Still, he had so much talent... She sat and mused until the next set of students arrived.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Oliver barely noticed the first four hours of school that day. He drifted through History of Magic and daydreamed through Divination, which didn't matter since all he could see in his scrying dish was the sparkle in Professor Starscribe's eyes and the gleam of her smile. He was lucky he hadn't had Potions, he supposed. He probably would have blown something up.  
  
He hadn't told anyone about running into her, or her healing spell. That was partially because when he finally got back to Gryffindor Tower after wandering dazedly for twenty minutes, he had still been so stunned that he'd walked into a wall without even seeing it. Percy had asked him if he were all right. He wasn't hurt, but the excuse that came immediately to mind was that Pomfrey had drugged him with potions. He felt drugged. It worked. And best of all, he didn't have to explain any more than that. Percy had simply nodded knowingly, helped him up, and steered him towards their first class.  
  
By lunch hour, the fog had dissipated from his brain a bit, enough to allow him to at least make semi-intelligent conversation. Starscribe wasn't there. Oliver wasn't sure if this was tragic or fortunate. He had heard rumours from the younger students that her class was very interesting. Draco Malfoy was bragging that he was the best in that class, "better even than Granger". It wasn't just Gryffindor pride that made Oliver doubt the veracity of that statement, knowing well that Hermione would never let herself be beaten by Malfoy at anything. He wondered idly how he would do.  
  
He wasn't really hungry, but it was so lovely out that he decided to go down to the Quidditch pitch and see if it had missed him. Perhaps he would take his broom as well. The fresh air might clear his head enough so that he wouldn't make a total idiot of himself in front of her. Again.  
  
Dashing up to Gryffindor Tower and grabbing his Cleansweep Seven from its corner, he made his way down to the grounds. He kicked off and was soon soaring at the height of the castle rooftops. The cool air rushing past his face felt fantastic. Turning smoothly, he looped the top of a tower, then dived downwards. He noticed, off in the distance, a tabby cat prowling about. He waved to it, knowing full well that it was Professor McGonagall's habit to go for a bit of a walk before her last class.  
  
The cat stretched oddly and transformed back into McGonagall. She beckoned him over, and he flew in her direction.  
  
"I've been looking to speak to you, Mr. Wood," she said as he landed.  
  
"Oh, really, Professor? About what?"  
  
"Quidditch." She watched the quizzical look on his face for a moment, then continued. "I know you've got a team more or less together already, but there is something I'd like you to do with them this year."  
  
Oliver couldn't imagine what she meant.  
  
"Go see Professor Starscribe. Have her come to a few of your practices."  
  
He was baffled. "Uh, why her, Professor?"  
  
McGonagall pulled him closer. "Just between you and I, Mr. Wood, she flies as if she were a Snitch... In fact, I understand that used to be her school Quidditch nickname. She'll have a trick or two up her sleeve, and you can bet on it."  
  
Her gaze was intense. "If it weren't for that ridiculous broom of hers, she'd out-fly anyone who's ever played for our school. Maybe she could, even with it. And I include Charlie Weasley and both Harry and James Potter on that list. It's nothing official, understand, or Severus Snape will have my head and yours. But talk to her."  
  
She started to turn away, then thought better of it, and added "Besides that, learning a few charms against falling off of broomsticks would be helpful. Especially if you could do them without a wand."  
  
He thought about it for a moment, and remembered how much he would have given to be able to stop Harry before he hit the ground and broke an arm, like the previous season. It seemed like an awfully good idea. He glanced back towards McGonagall, intending to thank her. All he saw was the tip of a grey-striped tail disappearing into the bushes. He grinned. It was disconcerting, how she did that... but really neat.  
  
Then he realised what he now had to do.  
  
"Oh, Merlin, now I've got to talk to her!" he moaned, clutching his head in both hands.  
  
At that moment the doors to the grounds opened and a flood of first-years came running out to the pitch, where Madam Hooch was laying out broomsticks. That meant classes were about to start.  
  
Thinking fast, he hopped on his broom and pointed it in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. He scrambled in through the window of his dorm room, grabbed his books, realised he wouldn't have time to run all the way there, seized his broom and flew as fast as he could to the wing where Professor Starscribe's class was.  
  
Hair and clothes in disarray, schoolbooks clutched tightly to his heaving chest, he tumbled in through the mercifully already open window, tripped on the hem of his robe as he crossed the sill, dropped his broomstick and nearly fell but caught himself just in time. He fumbled for his wand, gasped out the spell that Banished his broom back to his dorm, staggered to his seat and collapsed into it, with 5 seconds to spare before the start of class. Starscribe looked frankly incredulous. He put his head down on his arms and silently cursed fate, luck, and whatever deity seemed to have it in for him today. He didn't have enough breath to spare to say anything out loud.  
  
But at least, he reflected, he hadn't been late. 


	4. In Which Oliver Gets Credit for Trying

Title: Cat's Eye (4/?)  
  
Author: Ailura Starscribe  
  
E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General  
  
Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch  
  
Rating: still R, though not here  
  
Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well...  
  
Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter...  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. *visualises tattoo on small of Olly's back, reading "property of JKR", and sighs regretfully*  
  
A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe, as usual. ff.net readers- this one was drastic. Most of the old chapter 5 is now part of this one, with the rest tacked on to the beginning of the next chapter.  
  
Old A/N: Reviewers, I LOVE you! Emerald, you're a gem. :) Kay, getting not one but five reviews made me so happy! Just for you, I wrote a superlong chapter... Actually, I tried to stop it, but it wouldn't. The POV changes a lot... that's simply the way it worked best.  
  
And now for our feature presentation.  
  
HR  
  
Ch. 4 In Which Oliver gets Credit for Trying  
  
Ailura watched the older students enter and take their seats. Having gotten through her morning classes without a major hitch, she felt quite prepared to take on this one. It was a Gryffindor/Slytherin class again, but she hoped that their increased age would correspond to increased maturity. For the most part, it looked like her hunch was correct. There were not nearly so many glares being exchanged between the older students as there had been in her first class.  
  
Front row, dead centre, was the Head Boy, who was rumoured to be a bit of a stuffed shirt but very bright. In the back corner sat Marcus Flint, a thuggish Slytherin whom she had already had to reprimand once for shoving a young Hufflepuff boy into a wall with force enough to daze him. He had a couple of his buddies with him. There were a few Gryffindor girls clustered in a group in the middle of the class. The Slytherin girls were looking disdainfully at them. She looked for Wood, but did not see him.  
  
At that moment, there was a swish, a thud, and the scrabbling sound of shoes not gripping stone. Surprised, she looked up from her papers just in time to see Oliver Wood trip on the edge of his robes as he entered through the window, his broom clattering to the floor. For a moment he teetered on the edge of falling, but regained his balance and stumbled into the room. He was breathing hard. His tie had worked itself out from under his sweater and robes, and was dangling over one shoulder. His hair stood straight up in numerous places. She raised an amazed eyebrow at his appearance, but noticed that he did have his books. The clock on her desk showed five seconds to 1; she had to give him credit for trying.  
  
He looked up at her before she had time to put her "teacher face" back on, and went even redder than he had that morning. Then he slumped in his seat and hid his face in his arms.  
  
She made the executive decision to start a minute or two late, just so that she would have the class's full attention. The whispering and giggling going on among the Slytherins was not, she could see, something that would be quelled by one Teacher Look. So, after the hilarity had died down somewhat, she took attendance.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Once Oliver had gotten his breathing under control, he realised that she was calling out the names of the students. His dream of the night before sneaked up and poked his conscious mind, making him flinch. This time, he knew, the other students would not miraculously disappear... although he fervently wished they would. The chatter and note-passing just made the whole thing worse. And if Starscribe was thinking of him at all, it was doubtless with the amusement shared by them all.  
  
Good job, Olly, he told himself angrily, that's just the way to impress a girl.  
  
He tuned in to what she was saying just in time. "Wood?" she called.  
  
He lifted his head and said wearily, "Here, Professor," and winced at the evident wry amusement in her eyes. Somehow the heartrendingly gorgeous smile was not coming to his lips.  
  
"Are you quite all right, Mr. Wood?" she inquired.  
  
He cursed silently once more; the Slytherins were giggling again. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, trying to gather enough energy to sit up straight. Somehow he managed it, and with a great effort focused on the discussion.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Ailura collected up all their wands, and ran through very much the same demonstration she had with every class so far. It didn't take as long, although the seventh-years got far more interesting hiccups in their spells without their own wands. That was made up for by the fact that they all managed to make sparks much faster and much stronger than the third-years had. So far, however, Malfoy was the only one to conjure green sparks. All the sevens shot red sparks as instructed. Apparently, none of them were as bound and determined to be showy. That was duly noted on her mental clipboard. Wood still looked exhausted, but his sparks were very strong, as she had suspected. She patted herself on the back, mentally.  
  
The bell that signaled the end of classes rang, and the students filed out. Ailura caught Wood on his way out the door.  
  
Wood gave her a look like a deer caught in headlights. She sighed. "I'm not going to hex you, Mr. Wood. Relax. After all, you weren't late for my class." Pause, quirk of lips, "Although I thought I was the only one who had figured out the best thing about large classroom windows."  
  
--------------------------  
  
She had to mention the window. She must think him such a drama queen, to make an entrance like that. But what was that about not being the only one? He was confused for a moment. Then he spotted the broomstick in the corner.  
  
He forced himself to speak. "Is that your broom?"  
  
"Yes, it is... I fly a bit, don't know if I've mentioned that."  
  
"Can I... can I see it?"  
  
--------------------------  
  
He looked so absurdly nervous. She wanted to shake him. Instead, she Summoned her broom and handed it to him.  
  
"There you are," Ailura said. She watched his eyes light up. Here was a lad who liked to fly, she could tell.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Oliver took the broom from her, willing his hands not to shake. This was so stupid; he wasn't even touching her. Then he read the script lettering on the top of the shaft and forgot about his hands.  
  
"A Cleansweep Four?" he said, shocked. So this was what McGonagall had meant by "that ridiculous broom of hers".  
  
"Yes, it's a bit of an antique, I suppose," she laughed. "But I'm rather fond of it."  
  
He turned it over in his hands, examining it. She peered at him. "You don't look as though you believe that thing could possibly fly, Mr. Wood. I assure you, it can and does."  
  
"I'm sure it does, Professor," he said hastily, "as it looks to be in excellent shape. My father has a broomstick repair shop in Glasgow, so I've seen a fair few of these. But usually, they belong to much, um, older wizards." He fell silent, wishing he could retract that last half-sentence. Luckily, she didn't seem insulted.  
  
"Oh, this thing is probably older than I am, but I've learned it inside out."  
  
"So I hear," he said, seizing the opportunity he saw. Why not get all this over with at once? He squashed the butterflies in his stomach and went on. "In fact, Professor McGonagall suggested I ought to speak with you about the Quidditch team. She thought that you might be willing to watch a few practices and give us some tips."  
  
She looked pensive. He crossed his fingers and hoped.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Help Gryffindor's Quidditch team... that was a recipe for trouble if she'd ever heard one. Not only would the other Heads of House look askance at her for it, but connecting the name Starscribe to school Quidditch might be a fatal blow to her dark-horse status.  
  
On the other hand, it would be awfully nice to have an excuse to fly again.  
  
But no, no, she knew she shouldn't.  
  
Wood was giving her lost-puppy eyes.  
  
She really shouldn't.  
  
"It wouldn't be official or anything, and you wouldn't have to fly. Just teach us some charms for if we fall off our brooms. You must know some, Professor, and in a game, we'd need to be able to do them without our wands." He didn't look nervous anymore, just hopeful.  
  
Just charms, eh? Now there was an idea. Especially if it wasn't official.  
  
She really shouldn't... but...  
  
"Well, I do know charms like that, and you're right that they would be useful. However, you would have to be prepared for something like, oh, Snape finding out I'm doing this and sending the whole Slytherin team over for lessons."  
  
He looked about ready to lift off the floor with excitement.  
  
-------------------------  
  
"May I consider that a yes, Professor?" Please, please, oh please...  
  
"All right, Mr. Wood."  
  
YES! Yes. The world could continue to rotate now.  
  
"But that has nothing to do with why I took you aside."  
  
Oh. No.  
  
-------------------------  
  
"Mr. Wood, you've got talent at this. You're obviously also good at flying. But talent or no, I hope there will be no more entrances of such a dramatic nature. Decorum must somehow be maintained, even in a school." He was blushing again. Really, the boy was half tomato. "Besides, it can't be good for you. And I'd like to see what you can do when you aren't exhausted."  
  
Wood handed her the broom he was still holding, and nodded meekly.  
  
"I really didn't intend to do that, Professor, you know," he said, "but I am sorry."  
  
"I know," she smiled. "And since you were, amazingly, on time, I won't take points from Gryffindor. But please, the Slytherins don't need the excuse to gossip all class." Ailura shook her head ruefully. "Don't do it again."  
  
He smiled back at her, quickly but brightly. "I won't, Professor. And... thank you." Then, looking like the sun had just come out on the day, he nearly danced out to the hall.  
  
Ailura's lips were still twitching with a mad desire to laugh for several minutes after Wood left. She wasn't at all sure why... well, actually, no, she knew exactly why. Watching him fall in through the window, that was why. She knew that even then, he had been trying so hard to look older and responsible. Circumstances seemed to conspire against that boy.  
  
She stacked the papers on her desk neatly, then weighed the possibilities ahead of her. She could go down and inspect the library, or she could plan her lessons out for tomorrow, or she could go and talk to people.  
  
That idea was strangely attractive. There were a number of people she wished to speak to for various reasons, and she could always do paperwork later.  
  
She left the bundles of parchment on her desk and her broom in the corner. Locking the door and setting the Biting Hex standard to most classrooms (except those that had something worse), she walked off down the corridor.  
  
The first person she needed to see was Flitwick. She found the little wizard stacking feathers into a box, and recognised the aftermath of a class of first-years attempting their first "Wingardium Leviosa".  
  
"Hello, Flitwick," she said cheerily. He looked up, and a smile creased his features even more than they already were.  
  
"Good afternoon, Ms. Starscribe! What brings you here?" His expression was delighted. The two had realised that for all intents and purposes, they were teaching the same thing, and had struck up a conversation. They had gotten along like a house afire. It probably helped that Ailura was wonderful at Charms and had always considered it her favourite subject, bar Flying.  
  
"Unfortunately, Junius, I'm here on business. I've got two classes of fifth- years and one of sevens tomorrow that I can deal with, but after that I'm going to need to know which charms I can safely get them to do wandless. Do you have a list or something that I could refer to?"  
  
Flitwick pondered that for a moment, then his face lit up. "I haven't made a list, but I can give you copies of the set books they use and tell you where they are in them. It's the Standard Book of Spells series. Here, that's the third one." He rushed to a cupboard behind his desk, and handed her a large book.  
  
"And the second, fourth and fifth volumes." Three more large books.  
  
"First and sixth... And, oh, where is the seventh-year text? There it is." Still more large books. Ailura set the enormous pile down, bound them together with a charm, and shrank them to the size of pocket novels. Flitwick looked approving. "Very neatly done, Ailura," he said. Even so, seven books was a rather large parcel.  
  
"Now, if I enchant some bookmarks to keep pace with where you've got them to in the books, that should do just fine," Ailura said. He seemed to agree.  
  
"Thank you kindly, Junius, that should help a great deal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go see Remus Lupin about the seventh-years doing crossover classes."  
  
"Lovely to see you, Ailura. Do come chat sometimes, won't you?" he entreated her.  
  
She laughed. "I'm only anti-social because I'm not used to this yet. You'll probably get tired of my company! I'll see you later." She waved as she went out the door. Flitwick was a dear.  
  
She found Lupin in the staff room. The tall, shabby-looking man was marking parchments. The first day of school, and he already had work to mark? He was certainly no layabout. And apparently, neither were his students.  
  
She sat down in one of the chairs at his table. "Afternoon, Lupin," she said softly, not wanting to startle him. His eyes flicked briefly up from his papers, registered her presence, and flicked back down.  
  
"Afternoon, Ailura," he replied distractedly.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you about the crossover classes Dumbledore suggested for the seventh-year Defence students."  
  
He continued to mark without looking up or answering.  
  
"I thought it a marvellous idea," she persisted, "and I wanted to know what spells I should be teaching them or be aware that they're learning."  
  
Still he did not look up. She began to feel exasperated, and let a note of that be heard in her voice.  
  
"Remus, really! I don't think I deserve to be ignored."  
  
He set down his quill and faced her. "Ailura, I'm sorry, but I need to mark these papers. I'll come see you about the classes when I have time. Unfortunately, right now I need to be doing this."  
  
"This'll only take a moment, and then you won't have to!" she exclaimed, annoyed.  
  
He made as if to pick up his quill again, but saw the look in her eyes. "All right, Ailura, I'll give you a list of what I was planning to teach them this year. But later. We'll have to discuss time-frames later as well, once I figure out how long it will take me to cover each subject."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at the animosity in his tone. This wasn't how he had acted when she had spoken with him in London. It was infuriating, but more than that, it was puzzling. "Remus, what's bothering you so much that you have to act like this?"  
  
He sighed deeply, and ran a hand through his graying hair. "It's those Dementors, Ailura, I can't stand them. They don't belong at a school. I'm sure it isn't good for the students, and I'm also sure there must be other ways of keeping the school safe."  
  
That seemed a good reason, but she was somehow sure that wasn't all that was after Lupin. If he didn't want to tell her, she wouldn't pry.  
  
It was just that she knew what someone looked like when they were keeping an enormous and possibly dangerous secret. She was doing it herself.  
  
And Remus Lupin, without a doubt, was as well.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Oliver was greeted by a large cheer, mingled with a great deal of laughter, as he stepped through the portrait hole into the common room. It seemed to be mostly the seventh-years, but all of his Quidditch teammates and their friends were cheering as well.  
  
George flung a comradely arm around his shoulder and steered him over to the fireside. "We were just commenting on your, ah, sense of timing. Percy was very impressed." He winked conspiratorially at Oliver. "You know, none of us had ever thought of coming to class on a broom, but I bet you caught Starscribe's eye all right! Though you probably didn't have to go that far just to get her attention, you know..."  
  
"Oh, do shut up, Weasley," Oliver said amiably. "I didn't do that for attention, I did it because I didn't want to be late for class."  
  
George didn't look convinced.  
  
"Better to at least be dramatically on time than dramatically late, right?" Oliver grinned.  
  
He supposed he should feel much stupider than he did about the whole episode. His sense of shame, however, had been utterly squashed beneath the exhilaration of Starscribe's agreement to help the Quidditch team. He knew, somehow, he would be able to get her to fly with them, and the team, he was sure, would improve dramatically. This year, they WOULD win that Quidditch Cup. They just had to. There was no option of failure.  
  
He settled himself on a corner of one of the sofas and joined in the chatter of the little group, who were currently engaged in homework-pool organisation.  
  
"So who wants to handle Arithmancy?" Twyla Denham, who liked to take charge of things, was saying.  
  
"Oh, I might as well," sighed Percy. "I'm better than all of you at it anyway."  
  
"Good," said Twyla merrily, "as none of the rest of us fancied it. Right, I'll take Potions. What about you, Nat?"  
  
Nathaniel Colubra waved a hand lazily at the list. "Trelawney loves me, don't know why... I'd better take Divination. And it's such a breeze that I should be able to take Charms as well."  
  
Twyla flourished her quill in the direction of her room-mates, Sally Keith and Anna Dunbarton. "Herbology, Sally? And Muggle Studies, Anna, as usual?"  
  
"Sure," Sally agreed. Anna nodded assent.  
  
Julian Nowland was assigned to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Catriona McHardey took Care of Magical Creatures. Twyla looked very pleased. Then she turned on Oliver. "And what'll it be for you, Mr. Frequent Flyer? Transfiguration?"  
  
It was common knowledge among the Gryffindors that Oliver Wood enjoyed a somewhat higher status with McGonagall than the rest of them, on account of him being the Quidditch Captain. Because of that, and also because he was rather knacky at it, he generally took the pool's Transfig duties. This year, however, he had different ideas.  
  
"Well, I'll do Transfig, but I'd really like to take the Wandless Magic stuff..."  
  
Twyla raised an eyebrow. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your grand entrance this afternoon, would it?"  
  
"No, no," said Oliver hastily, "no, I just like it. I'm good at it. She said so."  
  
"Suit yourself, then," Twyla smiled, and wrote his name down on the list beside the two subjects, then checked it. "That's everything covered, so I think that's all we needed to worry about." She rolled up the parchment and tucked it into her sleeve.  
  
Oliver took a deep breath of relief. Apparently he would get away without having to say any more about flying into classrooms. They all thought he was trying to show off, obviously... but luckily, George seemed to be the only one to suspect there was more to it. While they were all discussing their first classes, he slipped unobtrusively away and climbed the stairs to his dormitory room.  
  
His broom was lying on the floor just in front of the window. He picked it up, dusted it off, and stood it in the corner where it had been before he had dashed away with it that afternoon.  
  
Professor Starscribe would definitely get her wish, he thought wryly, as that trick had caused him far more close shaves with total humiliation than he ever wanted again. 


	5. In Which the Watchers are Watched, and F...

Title: Cat's Eye (5/?)  
  
Author: Ailura Starscribe  
  
E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General  
  
Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch  
  
Rating: still R, though not here  
  
Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well...  
  
Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter...  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. I'm good, but I'm not THAT good.  
  
A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe, as usual. ff.net readers- this one was drastic too, as I mentioned earlier.  
  
Old A/N: I know you're out there... I can hear you breathing... How does one go about getting reviews around here? Do I really have to write steamy slash? 'Coz if I do, saints preserve us all. Olly's dreams are plenty graphic enough for me at the moment... yes, I'm an old prude. :) Ah well, I suppose eventually I'll try my hand at it. More of my own characters in this chapter... I needed some more seventh-years! JKR didn't write enough of them in. They will show up again from time to time, but I wanted to give them all names now and get it over with. Thank you, my few reviewers, you make my day. You know you want to tell all your friends about this story too, right? :) :) :)  
  
HR  
  
Ch. 5 In Which the Watchers are Watched, and Facts are Discovered  
  
Ailura let herself in her door, and closed it behind her. She raced up to the third floor of her tower, taking the stairs three at a time for no particular reason except to burn energy. Setting her broom down across the arms of a chair, she walked over to the still-open window and closed it. Stone towers quickly became very draughty if there was any breeze at all. Then she descended to the second floor and sank down into one of the red plush-upholstered wing chairs before the empty fireplace. She contemplated lighting it, but decided not to.  
  
Relaxing into the soft cushions of the chair, she took stock of the day. It hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd feared it would be. Malfoy hadn't been insufferable, nothing had been irreparably damaged, and no-one had been utterly unable to do anything she had assigned. Best of all, no-one had had that tell-tale gleam of recognition in their eyes. As she had suspected, McGonagall could obviously keep a secret from her house.  
  
Secrets... Now what on Earth was wrong with Remus Lupin? That was a secret she wanted to know.  
  
He had looked ill, but if he were ill, then why was he marking parchments like a man possessed, instead of resting? Why would there be a time constraint for him? Why, above all, was he acting so... well, not exactly surly... and not exactly angry... Worried? That was it. He was deeply worried about something. Even so, the question still remained: why?  
  
She had told herself she wouldn't pry, and she wasn't going to.  
  
However, it was amazing how much one could find out without asking a single question.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Draco Malfoy shoved his silvery hair out of his eyes irritably. Blasted weak hair-gel. There had to be a spell for it. Maybe one of the books in the library would have one... but that would mean being seen in the library. Looking at books on hairstyling. Definite no.  
  
He smoothed it back and bent over his books once more. For once, he was studying ahead. That Wandless Magic course was going to be dominated by him, not that mudblood Granger. He should have the ability to outdo the whole class put together. After all, the Malfoys had been pureblood wizards for centuries. That had to count for something when it came to innate magic.  
  
Draco snickered suddenly, remembering how dumbstruck Starscribe had looked when he'd tweaked the spark-spell. That had been well worth the extra effort it had cost him to do it. They'd thought he was just showing off. Well, of course he was. If one had the power to do it, why not? He was certain that if Starscribe was actually as powerful as she said she was, there was no reason she needed to do those little flourishes with her hands. She could showboat about, so there was nothing stopping him.  
  
He had to admit, though, he liked the sensation of the magic coursing through his body and tingling at his fingertips before being loosed. Wandless Magic seemed to be something he should train heavily in. He knew he'd be able to charm circles around Potter and those useless Gryffindors. And the other Slytherins as well, for that matter. Starscribe was obviously fond of the Gryffindors, but she would simply have to recognise that there were ways in which Slytherin was infinitely superior.  
  
Thinking of Starscribe reminded him of how his father had stormed around Malfoy Manor for several days before Draco had left for Hogwarts. He had been furious at Dumbledore for something that he wouldn't explain to his son. Draco had heard enough of his heated discussions with various Ministry officials to know that it had to do with the new Wandless professor. Of course, Lucius Malfoy had a low opinion of most of the Hogwarts professors except Snape. Draco suspected that the Slytherin Head of House was the biggest reason that he wasn't currently studying at Durmstrang. Still, it was uncommon for his father to obliquely suggest he drop a potentially very useful course like Wandless Magic, just because of his abysmal opinion of the teacher. And suggest it he certainly had, however couched his terms had been.  
  
Draco had resolved to try it for a few classes, then drop it if his father was correct. When he had first seen Professor Starscribe, he had fully expected to find her course as improperly taught as his father had said it would probably be. She looked far too young to have any actual experience, and if it was an experimental course at that, then it was doubly cursed.  
  
That feeling, though... Despite himself, he liked it. His father could have been mistaken, he supposed. He would just have to stick around and see what she could do.  
  
He wiggled his fingers experimentally at the stack of books on his desk, saying "Wingardium Leviosa!" softly, and was very pleased to see them rise smoothly into the air. He smirked, content at the success which he deserved.  
  
That classful of dolts would never know what hit them.  
  
-------------------------  
  
The clock on the fireplace mantel struck six. Dinner would be being served now, Ailura realised. She had been dozing comfortably, but decided that it was worth her while to move from the chair and go get some food.  
  
She rose, straightened her robes, ran a hand through her hair, and deemed that to be good enough. She stood at the top of the stairway for a moment, then blinked. Why should she waste her effort and be ten minutes later for dinner on top of it? With a snap of her fingers, she was suddenly elsewhere.  
  
She appeared at the top of the staircase that led down to the Great Hall. There was seldom any concentration of students there, but it was close enough to the Great Hall to make it an ideal spot to which to Transit. She descended the stairs quickly and went into the hall.  
  
Her spot was vacant, which pleased her. Smiling at a few students that she recognised from that day's classes, she made her way to the head table and sat down. Snape was not in his seat of the night before, she noticed with pleasure. Then her eyes widened as she saw where he was instead.  
  
Sitting near the rightmost end of the table, deep in conversation with Remus Lupin.  
  
Double take. Yes, her eyes were still functioning.  
  
Lupin looked deeply uncomfortable, and Snape looked annoyed, but also grimly, dangerously smug.  
  
Ailura watched as the two men shared a vehement but quiet discussion, then Snape turned away. He appeared to have come off tops in the fray, as he now sported much the same smirk she had seen on Draco Malfoy that afternoon. Lupin, on the other hand, was still pale and worried-looking. He pushed the food on his plate around with his fork for a minute or two, but ate nothing. Finally, he set down his silverware and left the Hall.  
  
Curiouser and curiouser.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Down at the Slytherin table, a pair of silvery eyes kept as intent a surveillance on Ailura as she had on Lupin and Snape. Malfoy had a personal espionage mission as well.  
  
As he had been reviewing his notes that afternoon, some of the Slytherin seventh-years had come into the common room. They had been laughing about something that had happened in their last class. Apparently that Quidditch- obsessed fool Wood had come into class through the window, on a broomstick. Further eavesdropping had revealed that the class in question had been Starscribe's.  
  
An image had suddenly popped into his head. There had been a broomstick behind her desk that morning. Obviously, she flew. That conclusion was easy to come to, but for some reason, he seemed to remember that there was more than that. Had she said something in class about it? He couldn't recall.  
  
That annoyed him. He was convinced that somehow he'd heard her name connected with flying. He also knew that until he found the source of that conviction, it would torment him mercilessly.  
  
Hurriedly, he finished his dinner, and headed back to his room to commence the research.  
  
----------------------  
  
Oliver restrained himself from the hopeless sigh he wanted to give. He seemed to be sighing far too often, and had resolved to stop.  
  
She only had eyes for Lupin and Snape. Never, even once, did she look down at him. Why, why, WHY couldn't she have been a seventh-year? It was so easy to pretend she was. She looked young enough to be one. He imagined himself sitting beside her in class, walking back to the Common Room with her- she would, of course, be a Gryffindor- and sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace with her, talking about Quidditch. She loved Quidditch. It didn't matter that all the women in his fantasies had always loved Quidditch, too. She really would want to sit and listen to him tell her all about his next great idea for the team. And she'd be on the team too... It occurred to him that he didn't know what position she played, but judging by her build and the fact that she was apparently acrobatic, probably a Chaser or even a Seeker. She would doubtless be fantastic at whatever she played. Then he'd have an excuse to hug her after every brilliant move, and he'd greet her sunnily at every early morning practice and make her laugh until she actually woke up, and they'd study play diagrams together at night, and...  
  
And he was making an idiot of himself again, mooning over her like that. He forced his eyes back down to his plate and hoped nobody else had noticed.  
  
----------------------  
  
Some hours later, alone in the Slytherin common room, Malfoy turned the last page of "Quidditch Through The Ages" and closed it wearily, narrowing his eyes in frustration. That was the sixth book on Quidditch and flying that he'd skim-read since dinner, and no sign of the name Starscribe. He was about ready to give up for the night. He set down "Quidditch Through The Ages" and picked up a magazine that was lying on top of the black marble coffee table. It was one of Marcus Flint's old copies of "Which Broomstick". He'd had it out to show Warrington an interesting little move they'd featured in the Tips and Tricks section.  
  
Idly, Malfoy leafed through it, barely glancing at the wizards zooming about on its pages. Then one picture caught his eye and he stopped dead.  
  
A young blonde witch in a foreign-looking Quidditch uniform dangled by her knees from a Cleansweep Four. Mere inches from her outstretched hand gleamed the Snitch. It was unmistakeably a younger Professor Starscribe. Not much younger, though... He read the caption: "Canadian Catalpa Wizarding Academy has a crack team this year, captained by Seeker Ailura Starscribe, a seventh-year". Flipping back through the article, he discovered it was their annual September talent-search article in which they reviewed all the school teams and their up-and-comers. School teams? But that would mean...  
  
He looked at the cover. The magazine, though worn from much re-reading, was the September issue from two years ago.  
  
Quickly, he did the mental math, and came to a conclusion that astonished him momentarily, then just as quickly failed to surprise him at all. It all made sense now. It was no wonder his father was so unimpressed. He wanted to laugh.  
  
Professor Starscribe, the distinguished, responsible and knowledgeable Professor Starscribe, was only nineteen years old.  
  
----------------------  
  
Ailura finished her dinner, contemplated a trip to the library but decided it could wait, and Transited back to her classroom. Picking up the first- year Charms textbook from her desk, she familiarised herself with the first few spells. Repeating the procedure with each of the books in turn, she was soon quite conversant with her students' recent material. That was handy; it meant she wouldn't have to wing the second set of lessons as much as she had the first set.  
  
She had the fifth-years the next day, as well as the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff sevens. The demonstration lessons for them would be substantially the same as what she had done with her classes that day, so she wasn't worried. Stacking the books into her cupboard, she thought kind things of Professor Flitwick.  
  
As she closed the cupboard door, she heard a tapping noise from the window. It was an owl with an envelope. A school owl, she saw from its collar, so she didn't have to pay it. She took the envelope, stroked the owl's glossy head and let it fly off into the darkening sky.  
  
The envelope was blank. Curious, she tore open the flap and pulled out the parchment within.  
  
It was a list. After a moment, she realised that it was the set-books list for Lupin's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. Now she really would have to go to the library. But she wondered why he hadn't delivered it himself. He hadn't seemed that ill at dinner... perhaps he was just busy.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Draco Malfoy stared at the picture of Starscribe, lunging so athletically after the Snitch, and thought hard.  
  
He would have bet ten Galleons that Flint didn't know what his magazine had revealed. Privately, Draco doubted Flint could read that well. He probably just got the magazine for the pictures. However, there were many very bright people in Slytherin House, people who would read and would make the same connection he had, and who would use that information to at least make sure Starscribe got no respect, ever again, from any of her students.  
  
He wasn't sure he liked that idea. At the moment, he was quite certain he was the only one to be harbouring suspicions against the Wandless Magic professor. Right now, he held all the cards, and could do with them what he liked with no interference. That had the possibility of being very useful. But if anyone else knew... That would spoil all his fun, and that would never do.  
  
His decision made, he turned back to the article. Very carefully, he tore out the page with Professor Starscribe's picture. The rest of the article didn't mention her, so he left it alone. He replaced the magazine exactly where it had been on the table, then quickly stole off to his room and tucked the page into the secret compartment of his trunk. It would be safe there until he figured out exactly how best to use it.  
  
He ran down the stairs to the common room, collected up all the books he had borrowed, and left to return them.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Slipping Lupin's parchment into her pocket, Ailura locked the cupboard with a flick of her hand and left the room the way she had arrived. She reappeared outside the library and opened the massive oak doors. They were heavy and hard to open, but when they closed behind her they made nearly no sound. She admired them for a moment; Madam Pince must have put some sort of silencing spell on them. Then she headed for the main desk.  
  
Madam Pince, a tall, skinny woman with half-moon glasses perched on her long nose, sat stiffly behind the counter, turning the pages of some old, leather-bound tome. She looked up as Ailura approached, and marked her place in the book with one spindly finger. "Professor... Looking for something in particular?"  
  
Ailura pulled out the list. "Remus Lupin gave me this. It's the set books list for his Defence classes. Do you have any or all of these?"  
  
The librarian took the list from Ailura and squinted at Lupin's shaky handwriting. "Of course we do. We have every book any student has ever been assigned to read from, and more besides. I'm quite certain you'll find them all in the stacks over there." She pointed out a section of the shelves.  
  
Ailura nodded understanding. "Thank you," she said, retrieving the list from Madam Pince and wandering into the stacks.  
  
She found the section with no trouble at all. She scanned the titles arrayed on the wooden shelves in front of her, then checked her list. There was the first one... and the second... and the third... In no time at all, she had found all the books on Lupin's list. She silently blessed Madam Pince for keeping such a complete, organised collection. Steadying "Evil Creatures in Wizarding History", which seemed to want to get away from her, she bound the pile together with a charm and floated them towards the reference desk.  
  
"You know, Madam Pince," she said, "I think that was far too easy. I've never found that many books that quickly before!"  
  
The librarian smiled. "Wizardry does help a library... They self- alphabetize, you know."  
  
Ailura giggled. "You may have to teach me that spell. I have a fair number of books myself, and it would be incredibly nice never to have to sort them again."  
  
Madam Pince promised to show Ailura how to enchant her books later, and checked out all the ones she wanted to borrow. She scooped the pile up from the desk and headed for the door. She looked over her shoulder to thank the librarian, and turned back to the door just as it opened to admit Draco Malfoy with an armful of books about flying.  
  
Malfoy, startled, went white, and backpedaled quickly to avoid running into her. Then he smiled suddenly. It wasn't a pleasant smile. Ailura thought that in that moment, he looked more like his father than ever.  
  
"Sorry, Professor," he drawled. He emphasised the last word, making it sound vaguely insulting. She raised an eyebrow at that, but he merely continued to sneer insolently as he veered to her left and dumped his books into the check-in basket.  
  
People were very strange today, she reflected, shouldering open the door.  
  
As soon as she made it out into the hallway, she settled the books against her hip and worked her Transiting spell to get back to her classroom. She glanced out the window; it was pitch-black outside. She realised she was tired, and entertained thoughts of going to bed. Stowing the books in the cupboard and locking it back up, she snapped her fingers, and suddenly the room was empty.  
  
----------------------  
  
Malfoy chuckled to himself as he loped down the corridor to the Slytherin common room. She had no clue at all, really. The look on her face... priceless. She had the nerve to think she was better than him. Ha! She was only six years older, not nearly enough to deserve respect on age alone, and how good a witch could she really be, only two years out of school? He'd soon show her. He, after all, was a Malfoy. How could she ever compare with that? 


	6. In Which Important Conclusions are Drawn

Title: Cat's Eye (6/?)  
  
Author: Ailura Starscribe  
  
E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General  
  
Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch  
  
Rating: Yes, this is R, and if that bothers you then just page ahead to the first break (##s).  
  
Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well...  
  
Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter...  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. If I owned Olly... hmm... now there's a thought that bears thinking about. :)  
  
A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe, as usual.  
  
A/N: Thank you, my three reviewers... Maltavilyaiel (yeow, whatta lotta name that is! :) The cats whose eyes are being referred to will come, have patience! All will be revealed.), jo (Hmm, could it be that you know me? :) :) :) Don't worry, there'll be distractions aplenty coming.) and MicheleLupin (yes, it's third-year, but my way :) ... they're sorting out their homework pool, each one takes the notes and homework down for one subject, and the others talk to them after... this ends up being important later. I'm glad you like it so far!). As for the rest of you, though... *considers dire threats* Fine, then. If it's smut you want, then feast your dirty eyes! :) :) :) When the men with white coats come, tell them I was driven to it.  
  
Ch. 7 In Which Important Conclusions are Drawn  
  
Oliver smiled at her gasp as the hangings of her bed opened and she saw him. Reclining against the deep, soft crimson quilt, he flicked the top button of his silk pajama top undone. Her look of surprise turned pensive for a moment.  
  
"How did you know I was thinking about you?" she asked, sitting down on the bed beside him.  
  
"Magic," he said offhandedly. She laughed deep in her throat. He found that very sexy. He found everything about her sexy, as a matter of fact.  
  
"Good enough, I suppose." Her smile seemed to shine in the twilight glow of her lamp. She shifted position, bringing her feet up onto the bed. One of her hands was still holding the curtain open, but now she let it fall shut, closing the two of them in.  
  
Before his eyes could properly adjust to the sudden pitch-darkness, he felt two hands on his shoulders, pushing him down into the soft bedding. Sweet lips, tasting faintly of Honeydukes' best chocolate, met his. Her arms were holding him down now, her hands bracing his head and a knee on each of his open palms. A flicker of her tongue teased his astonishment-clamped lips open. Her golden hair, as smooth to the touch as to the eye, trailed over his forehead. She kissed him for so long he almost forgot what breathing was like, but she wouldn't let him respond. He marveled at how easily she had pinned him.  
  
Finally she pulled away. He still couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to to know she was smiling again, like a contented Cheshire cat. She lifted her arms from his shoulders and he felt the mattress shift as she climbed over him. Then he felt her arms snake around his body, trailing tantalisingly over his chest before coming to rest possessively across his shoulders. He could wait no longer, and in one powerful movement he was on top of her, kissing her with wild abandon.  
  
His fingers twined through her hair. She pulled him closer, stroking his head like one would a favourite cat. His tongue played over the roof of her mouth and the insides of her cheeks. Her hands found the pressure point at the base of his neck and tweaked it, sending exquisite thrills through his entire body. Then her whole body went momentarily tense and he felt the buttons of their pajama shirts undo themselves. The fabric fell away from them.  
  
That was one advantage to sleeping with the Wandless Magic prof.  
  
Her hands were running over his back, under his shirt, pushing the material down over his arms and off, freeing him completely. With one acrobatic wriggle she accomplished the same on her own shirt. Then she broke from the kiss, flung both arms around his neck and pulled him down against her. Her breasts, pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart, pressed against him, and she buried her head in his shoulder. Then she turned her head ever-so- slightly and bit his neck hard.....  
  
Oliver sat up abruptly, gasping and clamping a hand to the spot that was sending red-hot lances of pain through his neck. Then he realised that he was alone. The quilt beneath him was his own, not nearly so soft as it had seemed a minute ago, and though his entire body was sheened with sweat and his pajama top lay in a heap beside him, the heat was all inspired by a spectre from his subconscious mind. The love-bite hurt still, but like a twisted muscle rather than a vampiric mark of affection.  
  
With a deep and heartfelt moan of despair, he collapsed back onto his bed. "Damn," he murmured softly, hoping he hadn't woken any of his roommates. "Damn, damn, damn."  
  
He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. It had been two weeks already that he had been having these dreams, and every night they got better and better, more and more realistic. Then, in the morning, he'd see her and remember his dreams, and that was deeply painful. Still, as bad as that was, the worst part was waking up without her, but as aroused as if she had been there.  
  
He shrugged his pajama top back onto his shoulders, and slid out of bed, padding across the room on bare feet. He sneaked a look at Percy's alarm- clock. 3:56 A.M., blast it all. He'd need more sleep than that. Maybe a cold shower would help. He eased the door open, being careful not to make any noise, and ducked out into the hallway.  
  
Once in the shower, he luxuriated in the feel of the water on his skin, rinsing the sweat away and leaving his nerves tingling for entirely different reasons than they had been before. The shock of cold water did take his mind off his dreams, and afterwards a brisk towelling made him feel far more human. It was still far too early in the morning to be up, though. He wandered back to his dormitory and crawled into bed again, waiting for the sun to rise.  
  
He watched the room lighten through a gap in his bed-hangings, but sleep was indeed every bit as elusive as he had feared. He tried to think about Quidditch instead, planning his first practice of the season. That was to take place the morning after next. As the players on his mental Quidditch pitch orbited about, their movements became part of a great choreography, finally coming together in loops and whorls to spell out "Ailura" in great cursive letters of trailing sparks.  
  
He caught himself, and shook his head to banish the image. It was hopeless.  
  
----------------------  
  
Ailura stretched every joint in her body, all at once, then settled herself in one of the armchairs before the fireplace. The early sunlight coming in the window illuminated the book she pulled onto her lap.  
  
It had taken her an amazingly long time to get through Lupin's book list, but this was the last one. It was very interesting, all about Dark creatures. The night before, she had been reading about Veela... fascinating creatures, those. Almost made her rethink her stand on feminism. There were only a few pages left in that section, and she had decided she could easily finish them before going down to breakfast. She was determined to work at least as hard to prepare her lessons as she would make her students work to do them.  
  
Turning the last page, she sighed with relief and set the book back on her bookshelf. Only 4 more chapters to go. Just out of curiosity, she flipped to the table of contents to see what they were.  
  
Dementors, Hands, poltergeists, and werebeasts.  
  
She could tell she'd be having a quick breakfast and coming straight back. It sounded fascinating.  
  
There were times she regretted not having trained to be an Auror, and this was one of them; Dark creatures interested her very much, as did dealing with them. She supposed it was never too late... still, it was fun being a teacher. The Weasley twins were as devious and wreaked as much havoc as any Dark creature, and she had several students who showed every indication of being fabulously powerful. She was training the future Aurors. Surely that was good enough.  
  
The clock struck seven. Shooting the book one last longing look, she Transited away.  
  
The Hall was full of students, many of whom now recognised her and answered her smile with one of their own. Percy Weasley rather stuffily bid her good morning, and Julian Nowland beckoned her over. He looked excited. "We heard that you and Professor Lupin are going to do some classes together- is it true?"  
  
She nodded. "It is, Nowland, and you'd better brush up on your technique! I won't tell you what we'll be doing-" this was mostly because she didn't know either- "but I'm quite sure you'll find it both fascinating and challenging."  
  
Nowland's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I hope it's to be soon, Professor..."  
  
"Have patience!" She laughed, and moved on towards the head table.  
  
She noticed Lupin, tucked away in his usual corner. Lupin had been missing for a couple of days, but he was back now. Rumour had it that a spell he'd been trying had rebounded, and he'd had to spend time in isolation in the hospital wing. Ailura thought he still looked distinctly pale.  
  
"Good morning, Ailura," called Madam Hooch. Ailura waved cheerily, and joined the Flying professor, who by design or coincidence was sitting next to the heavily laden plate of croissants. "Morning, Tabitha. How goes it with you?" The two sat down together.  
  
"I'm getting the pitch set back up... Quidditch trials tomorrow morning, you know. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin have to fill out their sides." Madam Hooch shook her head. "The condition that place gets into, after being left empty all summer... but three teams' worth of trials means it's got to be in top shape."  
  
Ailura was momentarily puzzled. "What about Gryffindor? Don't they have trials too?"  
  
Tabitha smiled wryly. "No, they've got a full team already, Wood's seen to that. They have their first practice on Thursday morning, bright and early. Or did you already know that?"  
  
"No, I didn't," Ailura replied. "Why, should I have?"  
  
"I'd have thought Minerva would have mentioned it. No matter, though... Oh, by the way, would you be interested in helping me with the trials? The captains are really the ones in charge, but I usually go to maintain order. A second pair of eyes there would be awfully nice."  
  
Ailura considered it for a moment. "Wednesday after classes?"  
  
Hooch nodded. "They wouldn't dare get a professor up at five in the morning the way they do their teammates. It's set for about four in the afternoon."  
  
"All right, I've got nothing better to do. I'll have finished my reading by then." She chuckled. "Lupin's reading list for his Dark Arts classes is quite something. I'm glad I read fast, but I have to cover it all so I can plan lessons. The seventh-years already know about it. Their grapevine is truly amazing." The two teachers shared a grin. "And I'm sorry to eat and run, but if I don't get back to my homework I'll still be hip-deep by Wednesday."  
  
"I'll see you later, then," Tabitha said. Ailura stood up, brushed the crumbs off her lap, and Transited back to her room, leaving many wondering just how she went about doing that.  
  
Her armchair and book awaited her far more patiently than she had awaited them. Settling back into the soft, plushy cushions, she let the information pour into her receptive mind like a stream of water.  
  
It started out as pond water, stagnant and rotting. Dementors were extremely unpleasant creatures, she reflected. She had not actually encountered one closely, and planned on avoiding such a meeting for as long as possible.  
  
The literary pond water grew dark, infused with poisonous chemicals, and slick with oil of a provenance she didn't want to investigate. If there was one thing that creeped her out more than Dementors, it was necromancy. True enough, a good bit of necromancy was involved in the creation of Dementors, but Hands were purely necromantic creatures and Dark as a moonless night. She shivered despite the sunbeam playing across her hair, and turned the pages a little faster.  
  
Now the water cleared and sparkled mischievously at her, looking like the sort of water that liked to splash people. Poltergeists were funny things if you only kept your sense of humour about you. She'd never minded Peeves much, understanding completely that he was out for mischief alone. She did enjoy watching him torment Filch.  
  
Ailura didn't like the caretaker. He had skulked around when she was setting up her classroom, making ugly comments about the state of any classroom after strange charms were performed in it, and making it completely obvious that he disapproved of deviant new methods. This was shortly after she had gone to find him so that he could unlock her door, which he did while muttering about "incompetent tyros". He had thought, at first, that she was a seventh-year, and demanded to know what she was doing in the castle before all the others had arrived. She, personally, found him very disagreeable.  
  
His cat, on the other hand, she liked very much. Ailura had heard from the students that they avoided Mrs Norris, since she was reputed to be Filch's spy. After that, she had sought out the cat, deciding that this was one animal she ought to befriend.  
  
She had always been very good with cats. They loved her, and Mrs Norris was no exception. Ailura was impressed by Mrs Norris, finding her to be one of the smartest cats she had ever encountered. Yes, she did indeed spy for Filch, but with a castle the size of Hogwarts to watch over, the extra pair of eyes was imperative for the caretaker. Furthermore, a cat smart enough to communicate complex information to a Squib was rare. There were spells for understanding animals, but it took a powerful wizard to work one. Ailura considered herself lucky that at least as far as cats were concerned, she needed no spells.  
  
She had made herself a useful ally, anyway... It was nice to be sure that no inopportunely orange tables would be reported.  
  
She was at the end of the chapter on poltergeists. Checking the clock, she decided she had enough time to keep on and finish the book. She scanned the page entitled "Werebeasts- Creatures of Moonlight".  
  
"Myths and legends abound as to the true nature of werebeasts. This is because these creatures may live among us as normal citizens, with none knowing their secret. By far the most common of the werebeasts is the werewolf, although other animal transformations have been reported. Lycanthropes look human, except for the period of approximately 24 hours at each full moon, during which they undergo their Change and become wolf-like in appearance. They are known to be violently insane when the Change is upon them, and are widely hunted because of fear of attacks. Blood contact can transmit the curse..."  
  
As she read, her mind began to spin and hum like a Sneakoscope.  
  
"Some common features by which lycanthropes may be recognised include prematurely greying hair, scarring from self-inflicted wounds while Changing, pale skin, and lack of energy (due to the enormous effort expended during the Change each month)..."  
  
Could it be?  
  
No.  
  
That was...  
  
But it made sense.  
  
But he wouldn't. He couldn't. Surely...  
  
She shook herself, and told her mind quite firmly that there was to be no more nonsense from it.  
  
There was no way, no matter how much sense it made, that Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts could be a werewolf. Dumbledore wouldn't hire a werewolf as a teacher!  
  
A disloyal little voice in the back of her head suggested that he'd hired a nineteen-year-old witch to teach an experimental and possibly very dangerous subject, and wasn't that enough demonstration of him going out on a limb to endorse the possibility?  
  
She told the voice to get stuffed, and headed off to her class the long way, without Transiting. She decided she wanted the exercise.  
  
But when she crossed paths with Remus Lupin on the way, she couldn't meet his eyes.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Draco pointed his wand at his head and said "Lissadura". Obediently, his hair froze itself into the gelled helmet he favoured. It felt harder than usual. And well it should, he thought; he had asked around for the spell, after having explained that it was in the best interests of the Slytherin Quidditch team to have a Seeker who didn't have hair in his face no matter how windy it was. Derrick had been more than happy to share the knowledge with him, when he put it that way.  
  
For the house with the worst reputation for sneaky underhandedness, they were certainly lousy at telling when someone was lying to them. In fact, Malfoy had already thrown them off track twice that morning. When he had mentioned Quidditch, Flint had chimed in with "That reminds me. I left a Quidditch magazine out here a few days ago, and I think a page fell out of it or something, 'cos there's one missing now. Anyone seen it?" Draco had, in true Slytherin fashion, merely looked at Flint as if to say "Do you really think I would waste my time stealing pages out of magazines?" and said scornfully, "If you lose stuff it's no-one's fault but your own," even though he, of course, knew full well where it was.  
  
Luckily Draco's original hunch had been proven correct. Flint didn't seem to have a clue about the missing page's vital strategic importance. That was good. Very, very good.  
  
In point of fact, he needed the time that Flint's ignorance of that would give him. Malfoy had to admit to himself that the ultimate blackmailing plan hadn't yet come to him. Sure, he could spread the news around, but that would be such a low-class method that it wouldn't even be worth it. He could always tell Snape, and go for the "faculty pressure" tactic, but somehow he thought he could do better. In a pinch, he was sure, telling his father would work beautifully to make her uncomfortable, since Lucius had the grudge already and would then have the evidence, but if Dumbledore stuck up for her there wasn't much that could be done. Besides, he wanted to do more than just make her uncomfortable. He knew there must be some way he could turn the situation to his advantage.  
  
Just what it was, though… That, indeed, was the question. 


	7. In Which Multi-Tasking Is A (Missing) Vi...

Title: Cat's Eye (7/?) Author: Ailura Starscribe E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch Rating: still R, though not here Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well... Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter... Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. *pouts* And I could use the money, too. Someone should tell JKR that sharing is good. But hey, she's letting us play with her pretty characters, so there goes my grudge in a puff of smoke. :) A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe, as usual. Go visit my tower! So. At long last, here it is! Writer's block is a terrible thing. Should be categorised as an Unforgivable Curse, if you ask me. I couldn't kick it, so I went back and retrofitted Chapter 6 so that I only had to fill up one day before the trials. Ah, the joys of word processing. You all must be getting tired of the constant changes. :) but just think, if it weren't for the chapter-by-chapter format I'd never update.  
  
HR  
  
Ch. 7 In Which Multi-Tasking Is A (Missing) Virtue  
  
There was a yelp, and then a loud crash.  
  
Not again, Ailura thought wearily.  
  
She shoved the sleeves of her robe up past her elbows and ran over to the corner of the classroom where the students were gathering, some gasping and some laughing.  
  
At the moment, Bole seemed to be attempting to wrestle his chair to the ground. The spluttering, red-faced Slytherin cursed loudly as the chair thrashed beneath him. "Oh dear," Ailura said. "What charm did you use?"  
  
"Just Wingardium Leviosa," huffed Bole, wrapping one leg around the back of the chair. "It won't let me control it. I think it's possessed."  
  
Ailura considered the situation for a moment, then dove for one of the legs of the chair. Once she got a grip on it, she shouted "Plumbum Pesit!" Immediately, the chair thudded heavily back to the stone floor. So did Bole. He looked suspiciously at his seat, and made no move to get up.  
  
"Go on," Ailura reassured him. "I counteracted it. It's pretty well stuck to the floor for at least the next 20 minutes or so, and your spell will wear off before mine does. Obviously something went wrong with your spell. Don't try to lift such large objects for a while. stick to textbooks and such. Cushions, if you're worried about the heads of anyone near you. Remember, with flying spells, at times it's more of a learning curve-ball than a learning curve."  
  
Bole took his seat again, somewhat warily. She shooed the class back to their places, and ran a hand over her forehead. One thing that had to be said for this class, it was certainly interesting.  
  
Today was, however, more interesting than usual. The students seemed to be especially distracted. As a result, stranger things were happening. Already there had been several collisions between unexpected flying objects and those who were trying to make them fly.  
  
She turned and addressed the class. "All right, what is it today? There must be some reason you're all distracted. Is there a holiday or something I don't know about, or is it just cabin fever because you'd rather be out enjoying the last of the nice weather? Honestly, though, this is chaos."  
  
Wood spoke quickly, sheepishly. "It's Quidditch trials tomorrow, Professor. We're all a bit antsy. It decides a lot, you know."  
  
"So does my final exam, Wood." Ailura looked at him severely, then relented and grinned impishly. "Don't worry, I do understand. Perhaps we'd better leave off the charms before someone puts an eye out. Sit back, relax, talk strategy if you must. Just don't expect this to happen too often, because I don't." A relieved murmur rippled through the room as she returned to her desk.  
  
Warrington, Bole, Derrick, and Flint began to whisper conspiratorially, shooting occasional glances at Wood, who looked very much as if he wished he could eavesdrop without being caught. Ailura, however, noticed that he was playing the decoy. Behind the knot of plotting Slytherins sat Percy Weasley, prim, proper. and hanging on their every word. Ailura would have bet a great deal of money that by dinner Wood would know everything that had been said between the Slytherin captain and his teammates. A good spy was worth their weight in Galleons sometimes.  
  
Soon enough, classes were over. Ailura was grateful. The last thing she wanted to do was sit through another class full of distracted teenage wizards. Granted, it could be extremely amusing, but the wear and tear on her nerves wasn't worth it. She would be very glad when things had settled down again.  
  
She checked the wall clock. It was back in place, and showing the right time again; Denham had sent it flying earlier with a stray charm. She had a few hours with nothing concrete to do. She supposed she would have a lot more on her schedule if she just gave more homework, but she didn't want to. For the moment, she preferred her loose schedule to the drudgery that some teachers went through; Lupin always seemed to be carrying around enormous piles of parchment, and rumour had it that the to-mark stacks on Professor Vector's desk were taller than she was. Of course, this wasn't hard, because Vector was only just barely five feet tall, but all the same it was impressive.  
  
Lupin had been keeping away from her again. He kept away from everyone, as a matter of fact. The only person who ever actively sought him out was Snape, who seemed to take a special delight in torturing Lupin. No matter how hard the Defence professor tried to hide behind his mark-book, Snape would find him and hold another one of those oh-so-intriguing whispered conversations. This seemed to have been happening a lot more often lately, she had noticed.  
  
It dovetailed nicely with the werewolf theory, to her chagrin. She had obtained a chart of lunar cycles from Professor Sinistra, and the next full moon was approaching. If Lupin mysteriously disappeared again, she might have to listen to the idea she didn't want to believe.  
  
Actually, she was starting to wonder if anyone else had come to the same conclusion. If it was true, then she could be almost certain that Snape knew. In fact, she privately suspected that Snape was blackmailing Lupin about something, and that could well be it.  
  
Then there was Malfoy. Something was going on there too. She would have given a great deal to know what was going on in that boy's head. He sat through her classes looking abnormally smug, and though that could have been due to the fact that for once he was beating Hermione Granger in a subject, she had a feeling it wasn't about that at all.  
  
Then again, perhaps she was simply being paranoid. Seeing conspiracies behind every tapestry was the sure sign of someone who had way too much spare time to spend thinking. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up being worse than Alastor Moody and his exploding dustbins.  
  
If only it didn't make so much sense.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"Wood!" barked McGonagall. "Just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
Oliver looked down at the slipper he was supposed to be turning into a rabbit, and started slightly. At the moment, it had ears on both the front and back ends, and though the original blue plush was now significantly closer in texture to fur, it was not the specified grey, but green.  
  
"I-" he tried lamely, "uh- well, I guess something went wrong."  
  
McGonagall shook her head. "Honestly, Wood, I don't know what's gotten into you today! First you manage to completely bollix the in-class assignment, to the point where I'm forced to make you redo it, but now you've done it a second time. You're normally so good at this sort of thing, too! I'm sorry, but this just won't do." She flicked her wand at the four-eared slipper, which was instantly restored to the state in which it had been before he'd begun.  
  
"You may try it again," she said impatiently, "but only once more, or I shall be forced to fail you. I know Quidditch season approaches, and of course you're all keyed up about it like the rest of your classmates, but really, you must learn to concentrate." With that, she marched back to her desk and picked up her quill again.  
  
Finally, forty minutes later, Oliver presented his Transfiguration teacher with a wriggling grey rabbit. "About time," she sniffed. She gathered the rabbit up and placed it in a medium-sized hutch in her office, which already contained the transfigured slippers of his classmates. "Next class you change them back," she told him in response to his rather quizzical look.  
  
He sighed resignedly. "I should have known that was coming."  
  
She gave him a Teacher Look. He now knew exactly where Professor Starscribe had learned hers. McGonagall was an expert.  
  
"All right, Wood, you're free to go. And don't think you'll get off so easily next time."  
  
Relieved, he grabbed his books and stuffed them in his bag, then left as fast as he could. He had to get to the common room and talk to his team, to work out their scouting duties at the next morning's trials. He checked his watch- forty-five minutes until dinner- and broke into a run.  
  
His robes and bag were in the way; he hiked up the billowing material and cinched the strap a little tighter across his shoulder, then picked up his pace. If he didn't make it there fast enough, he wouldn't have time to explain all his plans.  
  
Just ahead lay a long straight corridor. Professor Lupin was coming from the other direction, but he noticed the seventh-year and moved to one side of the hallway. Oliver accelerated a little more. As he passed Lupin, a fold of his robe brushed the pile of parchment Lupin was carrying, knocking about half of it to the floor. Oliver skidded to a stop, and went back to help pick them up.  
  
"Dreadfully sorry, sir," he panted, stuffing handfuls of parchments back into his professor's arms.  
  
Lupin smiled tiredly. "It's all right, Wood. No harm done."  
  
Oliver collected up the last few sheets scattered about the floor. He tapped them against the flagstones to straighten them out. That was when he noticed- the parchments were blank. As a matter of fact, all the parchments he had knocked to the ground had been blank. Extremely odd, that was. Students generally supplied their own parchment, so why would Lupin be carrying around such a large quantity of blank parchment? He wanted to ask, but remembered that he had to be on his way and didn't.  
  
Plunging through the portrait hole, he rushed over to the fireplace. The twins, the three Chasers, and Harry were all there, playing Exploding Snap. The sleeve of Fred's robes looked distinctly charred; he must have lost a round. Angelina was dealing, but stopped as Oliver flumped down on the rug beside her. "So, captain, my captain. what's up?"  
  
"Scouting," he said breathlessly.  
  
Angelina chuckled. "This isn't the World Cup, you know, Olly. It's not life- or-death that we all be out there spying on the Slytherins tomorrow morning. And what's more, I think I speak for us all when I say that we'd really rather enjoy our last uninterrupted night of sleep before you start hauling us out of bed at four in the morning to go flying in the dark." There was a murmur of agreement, and George shouted "Hear, hear."  
  
Oliver scratched his head in amazement. This wasn't at all the response he had been expecting.  
  
"Now, are you really going to leave me alone tomorrow? Because that's no good. I can only watch one team at a time, and likely they'll all be flying at once. I know a little of what Flint is planning, thanks to Percy, but I really need at least three more pairs of eyes."  
  
They all sat and looked at him steadily.  
  
"Come on, don't you want to win this year? A head start on their tactics is just what we need. We play Slytherin in November, which means we have only two months to learn Flint's moves inside out, and once the season starts you know he'll be totally paranoid about observers." He was starting to feel desperation.  
  
Katie stood up. "Sorry, Olly, but don't bother waiting for me tomorrow. This pair of eyes will be firmly closed." She disappeared up the stairs into the girls' dorms.  
  
"I think you're on your own," said Alicia, and left.  
  
"We'll see you at dinner," added Fred, "we've got to fake our Divination stuff now." He and George left, debating which one of them was to have the worst forecast for the month ahead. "No, it's my turn to drown in the lake. You get to fall off the Astronomy Tower."  
  
Harry patted Oliver's shoulder. "Not that I don't want to help, but I need the sleep."  
  
"All right," Oliver said dully. "Then it's just me."  
  
"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, absolutely brilliant," exclaimed Angelina, collecting her cards with a grin.  
  
".Sherlock?"  
  
"Never mind. Happy scouting," she called over her shoulder as she headed up to the dorms.  
  
Oliver watched her retreating back and wondered, as he sometimes did, if it was really worth the effort of being a professional-esque team captain when nobody else wanted to play along. Then the Quidditch cup, so silvery- gleaming and beautiful, rose up in his mind like the Holy Grail and he would remember exactly why he still got up for the early mornings.  
  
He would win it, this year, this team, he knew. There was no choice in the matter. It was just bad luck and worse coincidence that had kept them from it before. They were the best, and that was all there was to it. He had hand-picked them, or would have had they not already all been on the team. More than that, he'd been training all summer. He knew that at any of their games, there could be a scout in the stands, looking for the next big star.  
  
He couldn't imagine anything he'd like better than playing Keeper for one of the big teams. Even the Chudley Cannons would be good enough. It was so right, being up there flying. Besides that, he knew he was good enough to be there someday. Jeopardising that by having an inadequately prepared team and being humiliated on the pitch now was unthinkable. Even if he was the only one with enough get-up-and-go to scout the other three teams' trials, he would be there.  
  
With those thoughts still whirling in his head, he joined the crowd that was beginning to straggle down to the Great Hall for dinner.  
  
Percy and Julian Nowland went with him, carrying on a conversation that didn't have any real importance. He joined in it gladly. They found themselves some space at the Gryffindor table and all three sat down to eat. Oliver was trying to work out how he could take notes on three teams at once, without total confusion later when it came time to sort them out. The boys talked about it for a while, but found no solutions.  
  
Then the doors to the Hall didn't swing open, but Professor Starscribe walked in anyway.  
  
"I think she has an Invisibility Cloak," said Julian. "I don't see how else she could do that."  
  
Oliver, however, was on an entirely different track. Maybe she would know a charm or something that would help with the notes. He resolved to catch her after dinner and ask.  
  
Dinner was some sort of stew, with fresh-baked, steaming rolls. Oliver appreciated the warmth, but the taste barely registered with him, since he was paying far more attention to Starscribe, matching her pace so that they would finish at the same time. By dint of sheer concentration, he managed not to slop food down his front even though he wasn't watching his spoon at all.  
  
At last she set down her spoon and stood up. He immediately followed suit and- oh perfection- walked out beside her.  
  
"Evening, Wood," she greeted him. "Ready for trials tomorrow? Oh right, I forgot, you're not having any."  
  
He saw his opening and jumped for it. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something about that, Professor. I'm not testing, but I am going to be there, just to see what we're up against. But there's a bit of a problem with that. All the trials are at the same time, on different parts of the pitch. I'd been counting on a little help from my teammates, so that we'd have at least one person watching each set of players, but they've all backed out on me, without exception. or particularly good excuse. I still want to try to do as much as I can, but I'm thinking that I ought to try and find some charm that will make it possible for me to take three sets of notes once, but on different parchments because otherwise it's horribly confusing. Do you know anything that would help?"  
  
She looked thoughtfully at him. "Hmm. What about a Dictating Charm?"  
  
"I thought of that. It's no good. I'd have to have some way of differentiating between comments on one team or another."  
  
"True." Her brow furrowed in concentration. "Could you try something like. oh, I don't know. a note-sorting sort of thing? There's probably some way you could write on one sheet and have it copied onto separate ones, depending on which team it was for."  
  
"It might work. how would I show which team it was for?"  
  
"Usually you start each note with a particular symbol that tells the spell where to send it. I can't remember it off the top of my head, but there's a spell for that sort of thing in one of my books. Shall I dig it out for you?"  
  
"That would be fantastic, Professor."  
  
"All right, then, I'll do that, and I'll bring it to you tonight. It may take me a while to find it. will you be in the common room?"  
  
"Probably. The password's 'Hippogriff'." He sighed gratefully. "Thank you so much, Professor, you may just have saved me."  
  
".From a fate worse than ink-blots?" She chuckled.  
  
"Perhaps." He was grinning like an idiot, and made an effort to tone it down.  
  
"Well, then, I'll see you later." She waved, and disappeared.  
  
He decided Nowland was wrong, and that that definitely was not an Invisibility Cloak sort of disappearance. Then he gathered his wits and started off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. Just on the off-chance that she would find that book right away, he wanted to be there as soon as he could. 


	8. In Which One Good Turn Deserves Another

Title: Cat's Eye (8/?) Author: Ailura Starscribe E-mail: chaptercat@hotmail.com Category: Romance, Humor, Mystery, Action/Adventure, Drama... oh heck, just call it General Keywords: Oliver Wood professor magic Quidditch Rating: still R, though not here Spoilers: definitely the first three books, and probably the fourth as well... Summary: see chapter title for a brief summary of this chapter... Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Obviously. I'm as broke right now as she was before we all discovered Harry and co. :) A/N: Illustrations on http://starlight.nu/starscribe, as usual. Go visit my tower! I'm currently dealing with disturbing accusations that Ailura is a Mary Sue. She's NOT. Honestly, people, I'm not a lazy enough author to write a whole fic starring one of the classic 2-D female characters. I've already written in character flaws for her, and there are plenty of people who don't really like her. And furthermore, there will be absolutely NO Harry/Oliver, or Draco/Oliver, or Weasley/Oliver, or OC/Oliver fights over her. she'd never stand for it. Besides, Draco's far too busy trying to blackmail her to fall in love with her. So let's have no more of this Mary Sue nonsense, please.  
  
And she's NOT going to marry Snape. Sorry if I've just dashed your hopes. :)  
  
HR  
  
Ch. 8 In Which One Good Turn Deserves Another  
  
Malfoy got up from the table and headed for the doorway to the Great Hall. On the way, he passed the Gryffindor table.  
  
"Wonder what Starscribe thinks of Olly?" Fred Weasley was saying. Malfoy's ears pricked up; this sounded like it might be worth hearing. After all, Wood had just "coincidentally" left with Starscribe.  
  
"Well, I don't know why she'd be particularly impressed. That was about as smooth as a gravel bed. In fact, he's about that smooth around her most of the time." George rolled his eyes. "Don't tell him that, though- it might break his stupid little heart."  
  
"Oh?" said Fred. "Why?"  
  
"Surely it's obvious enough," George said. "He's completely gone on her. Hasn't even noticed the age gap, let alone the fact that she's a prof and he's. not."  
  
Not as much of an age gap as they expected, Malfoy grinned to himself. "Thinks she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen," George continued.  
  
"Hmm," said Fred. "I'm not sure quite why. Admittedly she's talented. and her hair is pretty. and her eyes are awfully blue. and she's got a nice body, for a prof." He trailed off. "All right, maybe I do know why. That sort of thing appeals to him. Wonder if she plays Quidditch?"  
  
There was general laughter. Oh, if they only knew just how much Quidditch she played, thought Malfoy. If they only knew. It was so tempting to tell them, but that would mean admitting he'd been eavesdropping. Wisely, he kept his peace.  
  
Unfortunately, he learned nothing more of interest, as the subject was changed. Mulling over the possibilities that had opened before him, he left the Hall.  
  
---------------------------  
  
Oliver curled up in one of the large armchairs with his Arithmancy homework. He had talked to Percy about it, and collected all the little tips that would make it easier for him. That was the benefit of the homework pool- the easy access to help. Now, quill in hand, he bent himself to the task.  
  
The endless lines of numbers twisted beneath his mathematical skill, supposedly foretelling many things in his future. He didn't actually believe for a minute that it was truly accurate, but it was sort of relaxing. A crowd of his friends came in through the portrait hole and clustered around his chair, entreating him to join them in a plethora of things, all of them a good deal more fun than Arithmancy, but he sent them off without him and continued.  
  
Column followed column. He would experience a shortage of money in two days. He should watch out for personal tensions in the week ahead. The next month would bring scholarly elevation. One and four was five, and seven was twelve, was three, plus eight was eleven, which was two again.  
  
----------------------------  
  
Ailura added yet one more book to the stack of books that weren't the one she was looking for. She clearly recalled its existence, but absolutely nothing else about it. Maybe it would be this next one.  
  
Table of Contents. Academic Charms. That looked promising. She flipped to the specified page and began to read.  
  
Erasing Charms. no. Ink-changing. no. Forgery. interesting, but no. Dictation. no. Note-taking. close.  
  
Ah, yes! At last.  
  
"For Sorting Notes by Subject. A Useful Charm for Students, Science, and List-Making. First, procure one quill and as many sheets of parchment as you have subjects, plus one."  
  
She continued to scan the spell, and decided that this ought to be perfect for Oliver's purposes. It didn't look difficult. She grabbed a scrap of parchment from her desk and stuck it in at the correct place. Then she tucked the volume under her arm and Transited to the hallway just outside the Gryffindor common room.  
  
Moonlight spilled across the flags of the floor, reminding her that it was actually quite late. Even so, perhaps Oliver would still be awake. And he'd want the spell as soon as possible. She stepped up to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who stirred sleepily.  
  
"Evening, duck. What brings you here?"  
  
"Just a little delivery," Ailura said, waving the book. "Hippogriff, right?"  
  
"Indeed," said the Fat Lady, and swung aside obligingly.  
  
Ailura climbed through the hole and found herself in the Gryffindor common room. It was a cozy sort of place. The embers of what looked to have been a large fire smoldered peacefully. Comfortable chairs and large desks were distributed liberally around the room. Several armchairs surrounded the fireplace. Curled up in one of these, surrounded by leaves of parchment and very large textbooks, was Oliver Wood. He was quite soundly asleep, his quill drooping from limp fingers.  
  
She smiled fondly. She remembered well the number of times she had done the same thing. For a moment, she thought of waking him, but took a closer look at the circles under his eyes and decided it would be cruel. Gently, she took the quill from his inkstained hand, being careful not to disturb him. She opened her book to the right page and took out the bookmark, scribbled a little note on it, waved the ink dry and slipped it back in. Then she collected the scattered papers, tapped them into a neat pile, stacked them with his books, and left the book she had brought on top of the pile where he'd be certain to see it.  
  
That would do, she thought. Except. if she left him like this, he'd have nothing to wake him up in time for the trials in the morning. After all that effort he'd gone to, it didn't seem right. She looked thoughtfully at his textbooks. Selecting the largest and heaviest, which had been open on his lap when she had come in, she waved her fingers at it. Its rectangular outline shimmered and changed, becoming much smaller and rounder. Finally it solidified into the form of an alarm clock, very similar to the one that sat on her own bedside table. Another flick set it to go off an hour and a half before the trials were to start; that seemed like enough time. She retrieved the note, added a sentence or two to the bottom, replaced it, and stood back to look at the scene.  
  
One more thing. She grabbed a throw cushion from a nearby chair and tucked it behind his head. That looked much more comfortable. She nodded once, pleased at the effect, then Transited back to her room.  
  
--------------------------  
  
There was a ringing in Oliver's ears. He shook his head to dispel it, and when it didn't go away he realised it wasn't just him. Groping blindly for the source, his hand encountered an unfamiliarly shaped object that was vibrating slightly with the motion of its bell clapper. He remembered how to open his eyes, saw that it was indeed an alarm clock, and shut it off.  
  
He also saw that it was 5:00 in the morning. He couldn't remember having set it, but whoever had done so had picked the right time anyway. He was glad of that.  
  
Stretching luxuriously, he pulled himself up and out of the chair, surprised at the stiffness in his body. He must have fallen asleep while studying, he concluded. Then he smacked himself in the forehead and groaned in dismay. That meant he had missed meeting Ailura, or else she hadn't come. Either way, bad news. He bent down to pick up the stack of his textbooks, intending to cart them up to his room and begin getting ready.  
  
Wait a minute- that wasn't one of his books. He peered closely at the leather cover. Spells for the Modern Enchanter, by Marvus Aconite. It looked at least 50 years old. There was a bit of parchment sticking out of it, and it had his name on the top. Suddenly excited, he snatched the book from the pile and flipped it open to the bookmarked spot. There it was, For Sorting Notes By Subject. He clutched the parchment tightly as he read what was written on it.  
  
Wood, I did find it at last, but when I arrived you looked far too peaceful to disturb. Hope you find this useful. Good luck! Prof. Starscribe  
  
P.S. I Transfigured your big Arithmancy text into the clock, as I rather thought you would like to have time to do this charm in the morning. See you at the trials!  
  
So she had come. He regarded the clock with a grin. He liked it rather better this way, although he suspected Professor Vector wouldn't agree with him. That was quite all right, though, as he had a great many more important things to do than his Arithmancy homework now.  
  
He shuffled through his piles of parchment, found four clean sheets, and set to work. The room lightened slowly as he cast spell after spell, weaving the parchments together in a magical network and setting the key- charms that would sort the comments. Finally, wiping the sweat from his hands, he sat back and declared the job done. It was about time, too; trials started in half an hour. He raced up to his room to get dressed.  
  
--------------------  
  
Ailura rolled over and yawned. It was far too early for any sane person to be awake, she decided. That, of course, explained why Quidditch trials were due to start very soon. She pushed her hair out of her face and threw off the covers. Shooting one last, lingering look of regret at her pillow, she padded across the room to her wardrobe. There was a set of robes in there somewhere that she had picked up in London, and they were warmer than anything else she owned besides her cloak. They were perfect for a morning like this.  
  
She dug through the clothes for a minute or two, then found what she was looking for: robes of lovely sky-blue wool, tightly woven and lined with sapphire satin. They'd cost her a small fortune, but she had weighed the merits of stone castles in wintertime and decided that it would be well worth it. It pleased her to note that she had been right. She put them on, enjoyed the feel of them for a moment, and pushed one of the curtains back to look outside.  
  
It was a very grey sort of morning. Warm leggings as well, then, and thick socks ought to do it. She sorted that out, then tied back her hair in a braid and went looking for her broom. She was quite sure she'd be expected to fly a bit, rather than just taking notes or something.  
  
There was her Cleansweep, sitting docilely in the corner of her study amidst the piles of books that she hadn't managed to put away the night before. Those could wait, though. A flick of her fingers brought the broomstick soaring into her outstretched hand. Her flying shoes, really a pair of tight leather dancing slippers, were by her door. She squeezed her feet into them- the socks made it interesting- and grabbed a handful of parchment and a quill from her desk, just in case. Then she thought about Transiting to the pitch, but decided it would be more fun to fly. She hopped onto the sill of the window and unlatched it, then climbed astride her broom and kicked off, hovering outside the window just long enough to latch it before speeding away to the pitch.  
  
From quite a distance away, the figures of students on broomsticks could be seen darting about in the air. The trials were obviously well attended, thought Ailura, judging by the fact that a quarter of the school seemed to be at the pitch, even at this hour of the morning. Madam Hooch was already corralling students by house and directing them to specific places in the stands. She looked harried, and when Ailura coasted to a stop beside her, her first response was not "Good morning," but "Finally, you're here."  
  
"I'm early, actually," Ailura pointed out with a grin.  
  
"So were they," growled Tabitha. She shoved a piece of fabric into Ailura's hands. "An armband," she explained, "because you're an official." Ailura cinched it around one bicep.  
  
"So what do I do now?" she asked. Tabitha thought for a moment.  
  
"Take the Ravenclaw team over to the north end of the pitch, get the Hufflepuffs in the middle, and the Slytherins at the south end. Tell them they can warm up, if they like. Make sure that they leave each other alone. That's about it, for now."  
  
Ailura did as she was told. She knew many of the players from her classes, and was gratified to see that they obeyed, even in a situation where her authority had not been proven. They had no idea if she was any much better at Quidditch than they were. She found that vaguely amusing. Only the Slytherin set showed their usual barely concealed contempt for authority.  
  
"Go on, you lot," she ordered, "Madam Hooch wants you out of the way."  
  
Flint sneered. "Then we'd better move, hadn't we, team?" His half-raised eyebrow showed clearly that he didn't think much of being nursemaided.  
  
Ailura was about to reply, but was distracted by Tabitha's shout. "Ailura, catch!"  
  
There was a Quaffle flying through the air towards her head. She stretched out a hand and felt the satisfying smack of leather on her palms as she tucked it neatly under one arm. That one season at Catalpa, her first, where there had been another Seeker and they'd traded off, game for game, she'd trained as a Chaser. Nice to know the skills were still there. She tossed the Quaffle lightly to Flint, who looked mildly surprised. It was her turn to half-raise an eyebrow. "What, Flint, I can't be a decent catcher and still be a teacher too?" He scowled and turned away. She shrugged good-naturedly, and went over to the Hufflepuff team to see how they were making out.  
  
On the way there, she spotted a scarlet-and-gold-scarved figure in the stands, head bent over his parchment and quill moving furiously. Impulsively, she turned her broom that direction and swished up beside him, dismounting on the fly and landing lightly on her feet. His grin was a joy to behold. "Hallo, Prof. Got your note."  
  
"I see the spell worked," she replied. "Glad to hear it." One corner of her mouth quirked in amusement. "And did your Arithmancy book wake you up, for once?"  
  
He chuckled. "Right on time, Professor."  
  
"Good," she said, with relief. "I was afraid I'd picked the wrong time, or something. I just thought back to my own Quidditching days." She stopped dead. Why had she said that? She kicked herself mentally. It wouldn't do to blow her own cover. She would have to be more careful.  
  
"Yeah," Oliver said, "Professor McGonagall told me you used to play."  
  
She blinked. So he knew. That changed things.  
  
"What position did you play, Professor?"  
  
Loaded question. She beat it back like a Bludger.  
  
"Whatever they needed me for that day. Our team was usually short-handed."  
  
"Ah, I see." She seemed to be off the hook.  
  
He looked as if he was going to say something more, and then there was a whistle. Ailura hooked one knee over the shaft of her broom and smiled at Wood. "Got to go, Wood, take good notes!" He waved as she rocketed off.  
  
Madam Hooch handed her a whistle and a Golden Snitch. "I'll take the Beaters out to the courtyard and keep an eye on them. You get the Chasers warming up, then take the Seekers sixty feet up and let this loose. The first one of them to catch it gets ten points for their house. Take five for every foul." Ailura nodded her understanding. Madam Hooch wiped a hand across her brow. "Good, then, let's get this mob sorted out." With that, she was gone.  
  
Ailura darted about between the groups, collecting potential Seekers and distributing instructions. Finally, she gathered the half-dozen students in a semicircle and told them what they were to do. She released the Snitch, gave it thirty seconds' head start, then turned them loose and sat back to watch.  
  
Malfoy seemed to be the best of the lot, although that Ravenclaw Chang could certainly fly. She, however, was handicapped by a Comet Two Sixty. Malfoy's Nimbus looked as if it could easily outstrip whatever feats she could coax out of her broom. Ailura felt sorry for her, in sympathy, because that was in itself the very reason Ailura flew as well as she did.  
  
Then Diggory, the Hufflepuffs' main Seeker, dove abruptly. Like a swarm of bees, the others tailed him as closely as they could, all striving for the elusive glitter just out of their reach. Ailura was forced to follow the pack from twenty feet away, just for refereeing purposes.  
  
It was an acrobatic chase, weaving and looping through the posts and pillars of the stadium. Everything went swimmingly until the junior Ravenclaw seeker, a second-year, cut a corner too close and knocked into Malfoy. He didn't see the accidental nature of the hit, and instead retaliated with a sharp shoulder-check. The Ravenclaw lost her grip on her broom and fell sideways with a little scream, ending up hanging by one knee like Ailura sometimes did. Unlike those perfectly controlled gymnastic maneuvers, the girl didn't look like she knew how to get back up. In fact, she looked like she was about to fall off entirely. At sixty feet up, that was a very large problem.  
  
Ailura clamped her whistle between her teeth and blew hard. The shrill sound stopped the pack of Seekers cold. They whirled around to see what was the matter, just in time to watch Ailura rocket in at top speed and seize the young Ravenclaw around the middle, flipping herself upside-down to bring the girl upright and back onto her own broom. Ailura did a canted spin-stop so as to right herself but not crash headlong into the stunned group, then hovered alongside the girl, who was now clutching her broom with both white-knuckled hands and crying. "Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
"I- I- I'm f- fine," choked the student, "not hu- hurt." Ailura sized up the situation, then adroitly moved her broom so that its shaft tucked in just underneath the girl's. She put an arm around the student's middle and pulled the girl's broom out from underneath them, leaving them both perched safely on Ailura's broom. Not the most graceful way to do it, but the easiest when you were none too sure of the abilities of the person you were taking on with you. Eyes snapping, she whirled to face Malfoy. "Fifteen points from Slytherin. Referee's discretion. That was no basic foul. If she'd fallen from this high, she could have been seriously hurt. I'm taking her to solid ground, she's not fit to fly. Don't any of you dare move until I get back." With that, still holding the shaking girl tightly with one hand and the girl's broomstick with the other, she headed for the stands.  
  
Wood looked up as she cruised in. His eyes widened in shock. "What the he- I mean, what happened?"  
  
Ailura's face was a stony mask of anger. "Malfoy shouldered her, hard enough to knock her off. If she'd had a little looser knee-grip, or if I'd been a little farther away, she'd have probably fallen sixty feet," she said curtly.  
  
He stood up and helped the girl off Ailura's broom, addressing the sobbing student directly as he took her broomstick from Ailura. "Are you hurt at all?" She shook her head. Wood smiled at her. "That's good, then. You just sit down. You're likely a bit shaky now, but I imagine you'll feel better in a moment. And if you'd like to kill Draco Malfoy later-" and his expression darkened- "we'll see if it can't be arranged." He led the little Ravenclaw to a bench and put a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly. Then he looked up at Ailura. "You'd better get back up there, Prof. Don't worry about us, we'll be fine. I haven't been playing Quidditch for ten years without a fall or two myself. I know how to handle it."  
  
"Besides," he added, "I owe you at least one favour. Let me take care of this."  
  
She nodded. "Fine, then, Wood. I had better get back, before Cho Chang kills Malfoy herself, for incapacitating her replacement. And. thank you." A smile flickered across her features, then she kicked off and left the two of them behind. 


End file.
